Rebekah's Treasure

by Sylvia Bambola

  “Come with me,” she says quietly, then turns before I can say a word.

  Ethan and my sons are now only a few cubits away, and fearing they’ll do something rash, I turn on my heels and follow the strange woman. Several steps later, I hazard a backward glance, and am relieved to see only Zechariah trudging behind.

  “We’ve been searching for you,” the woman says over her shoulder as she leads us down a stone-paved street toward the largest houses in the city. “Ever since Judah came to us we’ve been searching. We were ready to give up, thinking you dead. But praise our Lord and Savior, we’ve found you.”

  The woman is agile and slender. She moves quickly along the columned streets, heading south. It’s as if there are wings on her heels. She doesn’t even bother looking back to see if we keep up. I worry about Zechariah. He’s beginning to show the wear of the past several weeks. They’ve sapped his great strength, and he huffs and puffs behind me.

  Finally, the woman stops in front of an enormous house, larger even than the other grand houses around it. Its front double door is carved cedar; the doorpost and lintels, carved marble. Before her hand can touch the door, it’s opened by a man, stooped and far past his prime. She says something to him in a low, pleasant voice, then ushers us into a large sunny atrium. The fountain, an imposing marble statue of a girl holding a jug from which water pours into a pool at her feet, dominates the center.

  The strange, elegant woman beckons us to sit on a nearby cushioned bench, and Zechariah looks grateful as he lowers his bulky frame onto the colorful damask pillows. For the first time I wonder what has happened to her Galatians. “Your men? Are they . . . .” I stop in mid sentence for she is laughing. She laughs and laughs, and just as I begin to feel uncomfortable and wonder if it was wise for us to come, she brushes back her veil to reveal her full face.

  “Well? Don’t you recognize me?”

  I stare at the lovely face with its high cheekbones and almond shaped eyes the color of carob. “Who . . . are you?” I stammer in bewilderment.

  When she smiles I see it; the small space between her upper front teeth and the barely noticeable rosette-shaped mark on her cheek, which she points to with her jewel-bedecked finger.

  “Judith?” I rise, but my legs, which feel like dough, can’t hold me and I drop back onto the pillows. “Judith? Is that you?”

  She laughs. Oh, how she laughs. Then she dances around the room, and finally she comes to where I’m still sitting dumbfounded, and scoops me up in her arms.

  “Rebekah! My darling sister! It’s so good to see you. I knew you right away. It almost cost us dearly for I nearly gave myself away. How I wanted to hold you and kiss you and tell you who I was. I never dreamed you were the ‘Rebekah’ Judah spoke of—the ‘Rebekah’ brave enough to risk death to save one half-starved young man and an old woman. But I should have known. You were always brave. Always standing up to me and Mama.”

  “Then you are the rich follower of the Way Hannah spoke of, the one who heads the Gentile Church here in Caesarea?”

  “Yes, my husband and I both. We do what we can for the believers. Many are poor, and some, like my Galatians, we have saved from the arena. God has been good to us. And while He has not blessed us with children, He has blessed us with great wealth. Titus’s legions love roast pork with their garum. My husband has grown rich selling pigs to his army.” She laughs as she pulls me up off the bench. “You’ll meet him later, and I’ll enjoy getting to know yours better, too,” she smiles at Zechariah. “But first we have over twenty years of catching up to do.”

  We’re all sitting here in Judith’s house with her and her husband—Apollonios, my husband and sons, Zechariah, Demas, Hannah, and Judah. We’ve been here all afternoon and most of the evening, laughing, talking, catching up on the missed years as well as eating foods I’ve never eaten before, and which Hannah refused because they were “unclean.”

  Judith was kind about it and had the cook make Hannah a special dinner of minced beef soaked in wine. The rest of us, even the normally ritually observant Aaron and Ethan, ate roasted hare stuffed with chicken livers, baked dormice filled with pine nuts, and pork sausages. There were also platters of apples and pears and apricots, almonds drizzled with honey, the best date cakes I’ve ever tasted, as well as the finest Egyptian-wheat pastries filled with fruit and nuts. It was a feast befitting this great reunion of so many formerly disconnected souls. Oh, I tell you, I felt God smile upon us! I felt His pleasure! We were a family again, all of us. And how we laughed over Judith mistaking Zechariah for my husband, though Ethan didn’t seem to think it was funny.

  We have all eaten until I fear we’ll burst. All but Judah. Hannah continues to watch him like a hawk, and reminds him at every turn that his stomach is as shriveled as a dried date.

  Soon, many followers of the Way will come, both great and small, rich and poor. For all are welcome here in Judith’s and Apollonios’ house. And Judith has promised to ask the believers to pray for Esther. Though Ethan, my sons, and Demas stayed until the last of the slave girls were auctioned, Esther was not among them. Judith says God has done many miracles in Caesarea for His people, and she’s sure He’ll do one for us. That’s when I tell her He already has. After all, wasn’t this reunion a miracle?

  My sister is here in Caesarea! I can scarcely take it in. And she and her Gentile husband head the church. Oh, how God’s ways are different from ours! How high they are! The man my parents spurned and deprived of knowing and loving, the pig farmer they called him—and the only name they ever used when speaking of their son-in-law—has turned out to be a kind and generous and mighty man of God—the head and not the tail.

  I would feel sad over the waste of it all if I were not so full of joy. I can’t feel sad about anything, not today, tonight, this moment. My head spins like a child’s clay disk. It reels with the knowledge that my husband and two sons sit by my side, that the sister my family mourned as dead is restored to me, that we have good friends in Zechariah, Demas, Hannah and Judah. And that we’re all together.

  My head leans on Ethan’s shoulder as I listen to my sister tell of the wondrous things God has been doing in their lives, and I feel incredibly blessed. Oh, yes, weeping endures for a night but joy does come in the morning.

  “We might have found her,” Judith says three days later. “But don’t get your hopes up. One of my spies claims there’s a young woman named Esther recently brought here with other girls from Jerusalem by a slaver who follows the army. He’s been selling his girls to every brothel along the Via Maris.”

  My breath catches. “Oh Judith, a brothel?”

  My sister shakes her head. “Though the slave dealer swore she was as healthy as a camel, the brothels wouldn’t take her because they thought she looked diseased. Even with the kohl on her eyes, and the alkanet and ocher on her lips, they said she looked sickly.”

  “Then where is she?” I can hardly get the words out.

  “In the house of Cassius Plotius Flavillus.”

  “Who?”

  “The Market Manager.” Judith ignores my groan. “The slave who runs his kitchen purchased her for a few drachmas. Said the dealer was happy to be rid of her. She now carries wood for their fires.”

  “Oh, this is terrible!”

  “Surely it’s better than a brothel,” Judith says, looking puzzled. “And Cassius Flavillus is not unkind to his servants. It could be worse, Rebekah.”

  “You don’t understand. The Manager holds me in contempt. He’ll not be disposed to show me any kindness.” I quickly tell her how I prayed for his leg just before she and her Galatians arrived at the marketplace.

  When I’m done, Judith tucks one hand under her chin, just like she used to when signaling the matter was settled. “Don’t think about that now. Let’s first determine if she really is our Esther. Tomorrow, I’ll send someone to the house to make inquires.”

  An aging servant—for none in Judith’s house are slaves but all are free and are paid wages
—leads a lanky, middle-aged woman to the atrium where Judith and I sit talking by the fountain. We’ve been expecting her. All morning I’ve torn my nerves to shreds waiting. She is related to the head kitchen slave at the house of the Market Manager, and was once a slave there herself until she purchased her freedom. She’s also a follower of the Way. For these reasons Judith chose her to make the inquiries.

  “Come, Joanna,” Judith says, in a pleasant voice. “Sit here.” She pats the cushioned bench where we also sit. “Tell us what you’ve learned.”

  Joanna rearranges the deep lines on her cheeks when she smiles. It’s not difficult to see by her face that she’s had a hard life. She takes a seat beside Judith, but as she does she slides one hand to the waist of her tunic to conceal the patched fabric. “I brought my cousin the date cakes and honey jars like you asked, with your compliments and good wishes. And just as I said, nothing loosens Quintus’s tongue like honey.” She giggles, sounding almost childlike. “I couldn’t get him to stop talking after that.”

  I feel my impatience rise. “Did you see her? Did you see the wood carrier? The one they call Esther?”

  “Oh I did, indeed,” Joanna says, sounding very pleased with herself. “A scrawny thing. As pale as chalk. But Quintus said she works well enough.”

  “And . . . what does she look like? Describe her. Please.” I’m barely able to contain myself.

  “She was pretty, at least she would be if she had some meat on her bones. But she had other qualities. Long eyelashes for one; the longest I’ve ever seen. And eyes as big as flatbreads. Only . . . .”

  “Yes?” I say leaning closer.

  “Only, her eyes looked dead, like there was nothing behind them, no spark, no life. And she walked as one sleeping. But I’ve seen plenty like her. Poor girl. No telling what she’s been through. All things considered, she’s well off. Quintus is not a cruel man. He doesn’t follow the Way, but he’s not a cruel man. She could have done worse. Now, if she had been sold to a brothel, for instance, that would . . . .”

  “Yes. Yes, we quite understand.” Judith rises to her feet, then pulls a few coins from a silk pouch attached to the belt of her stola and hands them to Joanna.

  “Oh, no, no. Not necessary, no, not necessary at all. I was happy to do you this service.”

  Judith presses the coins into Joanna’s hand. “Your husband is still recovering from his injury. It may be some time before he’s able to go back to work. Allow me this blessing.”

  Joanna frowns. “Who knew a camel could do such damage! My husband’s foot has been as swollen as a melon since that beast stepped on him. He can barely walk. But God willing, he’ll soon return to the market with his water skin slung on his shoulder and his wooden cup in hand, offering drinks to thirsty passersby for the usual fee.” Her fingers curl slowly around the coins. “Jesus did say it was more blessed to give than receive. So I won’t deny you your blessing.” With that she kisses my sister and turns to go.

  “I almost forgot,” Joanna says, spinning around to face me. “It seems the Market Manager has been scouring the city for you.”

  “For me?” I place a finger on my chest in disbelief.

  “I didn’t give you away. But someone who saw Judith come to your aid in the marketplace has told him about it. He’s sure to send his men here. No one knows why he wants to see you, but his slaves claim he’s obsessed with the matter.” Her world-weary face furrows as she picks nervously at her long tunic. “I don’t know what you’ve done, but Cassius Flavillus is not a man you want as an enemy. You must take care.”

  Judith smiles. “I’m sure it’s nothing. A misunderstanding only. Be at peace.” With that she ushers Joanna out of the room.

  “Perhaps you should leave the city,” Judith says when she returns. “It’s evident Cassius Flavillus is as angry as you thought. It’s not wise to stay.”

  “And leave Esther?”

  “I can see to her. I’ll think of some way to get her back.”

  “And when Cassius’s men come? What then? Shall I leave you to face his displeasure?”

  “My husband’s wealth has made him powerful. Cassius would not dare to trouble us without cause. And what are we guilty of, anyway? Having you as a guest in my house?”

  “You may be rich and powerful, but you’re also a follower of Jesus. You know how suspicious the Romans are of believers, and how they hold them in contempt. I’ve hurt Cassius’s pride. Might he not try to humble you if he believes you’ve had some hand at thwarting his attempt to find me?

  “But it’s not only you I think of. What of Ethan and my sons? If Cassius is as intent on finding me as Joanna said, then no one I love is safe. Not Ethan or Aaron or Benjamin. Even now, they await word from me regarding Esther. If they find out I’ve fled and they follow, that will endanger them as well. And what of all the captives they have purchased and their plans to free them? And then there’s Zechariah. It would be a simple matter to find him at Hannah’s. Oh, Judith, surely you must understand that everyone I’ve been seen with will be in danger if I run. And I’ll not secure my freedom at the cost of all of yours.”

  Judith sits down beside me, takes my hand, then presses it between hers. “You are the only family I have left. Mama, Papa, brother Asher, Uncle Abner, gone, all gone. I don’t want to lose you now, not after our sweet reunion.” She puts an arm around my shoulder and presses her cheek to mine. “But you’ve always been stubborn so I know it’s useless to try dissuading you. So tell me, what will you do and how can I help?”

  “I must trust the Lord and go to this Cassius to learn of my offense. And you must pray.”

  Before I can test my courage and go to the Market Manager’s house, his two lictors come to Judith’s and take me away.

  I walk between them now, on the Decumanus Maximus, a wide street flanked on each side by a majestic marble colonnade and walkway. We head toward a large house near the market. To my right is the ever imposing Temple of Augustus, to my left, jutting into the sea is the daunting palace of Herod the Great, now occupied by the Romans.

  My guides speak not a word. And since they’re strong, roughlooking men who seem neither to want nor encourage conversation, I remain silent as well. They each carry their bundle of white birch rods tied by red leather straps. The one consolation is that no bronze ax head is tied to them as well, for they do not have the power to execute since Caesarea is governed by a Procurator.

  The sidewalks are full, and people stare and whisper as we pass. But few look me in the face. We finally stop at a house just outside the market, a house that sits beneath the shadow of the massive Temple of Augustus.

  A tall, stern-looking man with the flat face of an owl opens the door when one of the lictors knocks. “Follow me,” he says gruffly. I obey, and notice my guides follow too, as though discouraging any escape. And it’s not until I’m ushered into a large room where the Market Manager lays sprawled on a couch eating an early evening meal, that they depart.

  The long, low table is covered with bowls of fruit, bread, various meats, and a jug of wine. The Manager continues eating a fig without a word or even glancing my way. He makes me stand so long my legs tire and I’m forced to shift my weight. My mind races with scenarios of the worst kind, thoughts of imprisonment, torture, even death. I suppose it was his intention that I ponder my fate.

  “Well,” he finally says, wiping his hands on a large cloth. “I see my men have found you at last.” He rolls his barrel-shaped body around so he can face me. His fleshy lids puff over his eyes, making it almost appear as though he’s asleep. “You have caused me great inconvenience.” He studies me through the slits of his eyes. “I’ve been searching for you for days. I’ve bribed, threatened, cajoled. I’ve upset my entire household. How, I wonder, shall I repay you for all this trouble?”

  “I . . . would have come sooner, my lord, had I known my presence was required. Forgive my ignorance.”

  “Yes, well, sooner or later they all beg. But it won’t help you. I
’ve made up my mind. And I’m determined to follow it.”

  “What have I done, sir?”

  “Done?” his voice thunders like a gong. “Can you be so ignorant, woman, that you don’t know?” He kneads his doughy cheeks between his fingers, his eyes fierce.

  My heart pounds as I think of Esther in this house, as I think of Ethan and my sons, and my mind forms desperate prayers. “Whatever my offense, perhaps I can make it right. At least let me try. Allow me to change it or . . . .”

  “Change it! No! Never! I won’t allow it!” With that he laughs, then claps his chubby hands in glee while I stare dumbfounded. “‘Make it right,’ she says. Ha!” He suddenly leaps off the couch and dances around the room, jumping and stomping until finally I realize he’s no longer lame.

  “Your leg . . . is healed,” I stammer.

  He lifts his robe slightly so I can see that the once shriveled leg is as round and firm as his other one. “It took two days. But hour by hour it became plumper and stronger and fuller. Oh, the wonder of it! Such a thing I’ve never seen. And you did it!”

  “Not I, sir, but my God.”

  “Ah, yes . . . this Hebrew God of yours. But I’m told you were found in the house of one who follows the Way.”

  “Yes, for I also follow the Way,” I say quickly, not willing for him to know of my family connection to Judith, though I don’t know why.