Rebekah's Treasure

by Sylvia Bambola

  “I told him to leave us short on this end,” Rebekah says softly. “It will be easier for our people to fade into the interior than for his. We have the hills to hide us. He . . . and Aaron must contend with the heavily trafficked areas of the Decapolis and Kings Highway. Still, I made sure there was one for you and Benjamin.” Her eyes drift back to Pella, and a sigh, as soft as the breeze, escapes her lips.

  I know what she’s thinking. It’s in Pella she wants us to make our home, all of us, she and I and Aaron and Benjamin. And for the second time, I’m breaking her heart.

  “You do know I love you,” I whisper. But she doesn’t answer.

  There are only twenty in our group when we reach En Gedi. Rebekah, Benjamin and I, Skaris, fourteen other men, and two women. We avoid the oasis, for the deserted Jewish village and date-palm groves are too near it. I have no wish to encounter any Romans who may be grazing dates there. And some say a few poor Jews still eke out a living on the Roman-owned lands. But I have no wish to see them either. Nor to visit yet another place where Jew has slaughtered Jew, for it was here that many sicarii from Masada came and massacred the people in the village, then plundered their food supply. Josiah said it happened before he came to Masada. But it’s well known that even now many of the sicarii that co-mingle with the Zealots at Masada come periodically to despoil the surrounding land and its people. Nothing changes. The sicarii are still scoundrels, and not even honorable men like Josiah can rein them in.

  So instead, we climb the steep ravine heading for the spring—the “fountain of the young goat” as it’s called. We’re surrounded on either side by what looks like high rock walls. Above our heads, huge cave openings gape at us like watchful eyes, and I’m reminded that it was in one of these caves David hid from King Saul. The ravine itself is littered with trees and shrubs which help keep down the dust as well as provide some shade. We won’t climb all the way to the spring but will stop at the pool just ahead. Though I’ve never drank from it, I’m told the water is warm and sweet.

  I hear Rebekah gasp, and see a badger on a rock ledge above, standing as stiff as the dead carrion we’ve seen along the road. But the badger is very much alive, and stands this way hoping no one sees him. Skaris picks up a rock and tosses it, making the animal bolt, clearing the way for Rebekah to pass.

  He has proven invaluable this Thracian who knows Jesus; strong as an ox, carrying and lifting and kindling fires. He’s especially useful now, carrying a heavy basket of kettles and pots. We are all carrying baskets full of supplies, but none heavier, I’ll wager, than Skaris’s. We’ve let go of the camels. The climb is too steep. Instead, we sold them to a Bedouin family in the Judean Desert just below.

  We’re all straining under our bundles, and a few of the weaker captives have fallen beneath their load more than once in the oppressive desert heat.

  “Perhaps we should rest, Father,” Benjamin says, sweat pouring down his face, his shoulder bent beneath a large basket of grain.

  I shake my head, “I’m sure it’s just ahead, for I hear the noise of water.” And no sooner than my words are out, we see it—a sparkling waterfall tumbling from the limestone cliffs above and splashing into a large shimmering pool. Around it, and between some of the crevices in the massive walls, grow moringa and tamarisk trees, ferns and giant reeds and capers. But one side is nothing but solid rock where a ledge, the height of my knees, leads to a long though shallow-looking cave—the perfect place to make camp. Twenty would easily be comfortable here.

  “This must be paradise!” Rebekah says, smiling and looking around.

  It’s good to see her smile. It’s the first time she’s smiled since leaving Caesarea.

  She lowers her basket to the ground, then makes a dash to the pool, giggling all the way as if she were a girl. When she gets there, she plunges in her hand and begins to drink. Most of the others follow. Soon, everyone is drinking, then splashing each other in jest. When everyone has had their fill of both, the women, with Skaris’s help, begin setting up camp.

  “We’ll camp here while we wait for Demas and Aaron,” I say to Benjamin who stands beside me, grinning at all the activity. He has yet to touch the water. I think he’s waiting for me to go first thereby proving himself more manly. It’s something Joseph would have done, not Benjamin, though lately, nothing is as it once was.

  “It’s a good spot, Father. And we could use the rest.”

  I nod. The journey has been long and hard, and also dangerous. Titus has left the 10th legion behind in Jerusalem, and we nearly encountered one of their patrols.

  “Have you appointed the sentries?” I ask.

  “Yes, but most of the men are done in. I don’t know how effective they will be.” Benjamin gestures with his chin to a group of men who still wear tattered rags and look woefully thin. “We’ll be no match for the Romans if they come.” Then he looks at me and laughs. “Must I drink first?”

  I smile, then dart toward the pool and jump in, clothes and all, feeling both free and foolish. And at that moment, Rebekah turns and our eyes meet. My heart skips a beat as she breaks into a wide smile. Perhaps even Rebekah is changing. Perhaps she’s beginning to believe life in Masada won’t be so bad.

  Rebekah is sitting on the low stone ledge with the only other two women in our camp. Her head is thrown back in laughter, her hair loose and flowing as one of the women drags a camel’s hair brush through Rebekah’s long tresses, tresses that glisten in the sun in varying shades of red and brown. She looks so beautiful my heart aches with desire. I’ve missed her. We’ve had little time together since our reunion in Caesarea. And none alone. But that is about to change.

  “May Hashem bless you this day,” I say, approaching the ladies with one hand behind my back to conceal the small sprig of yellow acacia flowers I picked from a tree nearer the wadi.

  The women smile shyly. Only Rebekah answers. “And may He bless you, as well.”

  “I’ve come to walk with my wife,” I say, bringing my hand around and presenting the flowers to Rebekah. Everyone knows our secret. We are past pretending. I smile when I see her eyes twinkle. She’s always loved acacias. The other women giggle as Rebekah rises to her feet and takes the flowers.

  “Don’t hurry back,” they say, shooing her away. “We can manage making the gruel without you.”

  And so Rebekah takes my arm as I lead her up the steep ravine where Benjamin said he discovered another smaller pool and waterfall when checking out the area.

  Birds chirp overhead as we climb. A hyrax scampers among the undergrowth causing a small lizard to take to the rocks. And though the way is rough, Rebekah never lets go of her flowers.

  “It’s good to be here, like this, with you,” she says, smiling and brushing her chin against my shoulder. Her eyes are moist with joy.

  We walk a ways until finally we come upon the spot Benjamin described. The pool and waterfall are indeed smaller, but unlike our campsite, the surrounding rocks and cliffs dwarf everything, rising above us to dizzying heights. I gesture toward a nearby rock that is flat and shaded by lush greenery. We sit and remove our sandals, then dangle our feet in the water.

  “I’ve asked Benjamin and Skaris to keep the others away so we can have time together.”

  She blushes, but I see by her smile and eyes that she is pleased. “That is good. It will give me a chance to tell you what has been on my heart these many days; how I’ve grappled with the issue of Masada and . . . .”

  “Rebekah, I don’t want to argue. Must we talk of that now?”

  She presses her fingers to my lips. “Yes, let me speak, because I want you to know that though I don’t want to go, though I hate the thought of leaving Pella and living on that slab of a mountain top, the thought of life without you is even more intolerable. And so I’ll follow you wherever you wish. I’ll go where you go because I love you.”

  And then she’s in my arms, and my face is buried in her long auburn hair that still hangs loosely around her shoulders. It’s been so l
ong since I’ve held her like this. I feel young again, and vigorous. She is the bride of my youth, full of passion and sweetness, and as we kiss, I hear the clattering hoofs of a wild goat, hear rocks skitter and fall, and I look around. Something has startled the animal. I glance at the vegetation above the falls. Did it just rustle? Or was it my imagination? I should go and see if all is well. But as I’m about to rise, the sweet look on Rebekah’s face holds me captive, and I find it impossible to leave. Yet, as I kiss her once more, I have the uncomfortable feeling we are being watched.

  JUDEAN DESERT 70 A.D.

  CHAPTER 11

  Long before they arrived, our sentries informed us they were coming. I know I shouldn’t have done it, embarrassed Aaron and Demas that way, but I couldn’t help myself. I suppose too much loss kills hope because, truthfully, I never expected to see Aaron and Demas again. How could I when they were walking into the jaws of danger? They could be stopped. Questioned. Their deception discovered. A captive might be caught, then betray them under torture. See how much could go wrong?

  Even my prayer ran toward the melancholy. I didn’t pray, “Lord, protect Aaron and Demas,” but, “Lord, if it’s your will to take Aaron and Demas, give me the grace to endure it.” So I’ve been preparing myself for the worst. Is it any wonder then that when Aaron and Demas entered our camp I was upon them both, showering them with kisses?

  It is Ethan who finally pulls me away.

  “I’m so happy to see you,” I say, all tears and smiles and breathless joy even after Ethan restrains me by gripping my arm. “So happy!”

  “That is evident, Mama,” Aaron says, tucking his head as though feeling like a child.

  Demas smiles and says nothing. I think he enjoys the fuss. With no relatives among our number, who was there to shower him with affection? In a way, he reminds me of a wool rag absorbing my love as if it were scented water.

  “So, tell us how it went,” Ethan says, leading my son and Demas to the low cave ledge and the large rush mats spread out in welcome. A smaller mat in the center contains bowls of raisins, nuts, and fresh pottage, along with cups of sweet spring water.

  Aaron sits beside Ethan; Demas beside him. I take the seat where I can best see my son. Aaron looks thinner, older. In just ten days? How is that possible? A dusty patch covers one eye, but the other reveals so much. He’s weary and troubled, and I see a new hardness in his face. He smiles, but his forehead is crinkled. Oh, Aaron, Aaron, where is that sweet boy who so loved the Lord? The boy with a heart as gentle as a dove’s?

  “Well, brother, did you have to kill many Romans?” Benjamin asks, suddenly joining us.

  Aaron laughs. It sounds cold, hollow. “Only twenty.”

  “Single handedly, I suppose,” Benjamin quips, dipping his hand into the bowl of almonds.

  Demas answers for him with a nod. But there’s no smile on his face. It is dark, somber.

  “Then tell us about it, my brother. Don’t keep us in suspense.”

  Aaron picks up the cup of water. “First allow me to wash the dust from my throat.” He drains the cup then places it back on the mat.

  “Eat something, too,” Ethan says, but Aaron doesn’t even look at the food.

  “There’s little to tell.” Aaron appears nervous, and shifts his legs. “Just past Gerasa we ran into a party of soldiers transporting a handful of Greekish-looking prisoners, I assume for trial in Caesarea. Over three hundred captives had already left us by then. The remaining seventy or so were to strike out on their own that night. It was already dusk. A few minutes more and we would have made camp.

  “We had sold all but two wagons. That was our downfall, because the two overflowed with goods. One of the soldiers saw the pile of new tunics in one of them as he passed. He grew curious and stopped, then began asking questions. At first the questioning went well. But as it progressed it was clear he was growing suspicious. ‘Who was your slave master?’ he asked Demas. ‘Where in Damascus do you head? Have you ever heard of Adad the Syrian who specializes in eunuchs? Who in Damascus was buying your slaves? And why would any Syrian want these worthless dregs from Jerusalem?’ And on it went.

  “Demas gave his answers. But when the soldier asked his final question, when he asked why any Syrian slaver would buy new tunics for this Jewish filth, Demas gave no reply, so I spoke up. ‘What did he mean by asking so many questions? What right did he have to block our path? We were honest men of business. Was he looking for a bribe? For coins to line his pocket?’ He was obviously offended by my remarks, for he called the others over, and before I knew it, they were inspecting our wagons, rifling our supplies, taking things for themselves, and threatening to bring us in for questioning.

  “There we were with over sixty men and nearly ten women, all roped together, filthy, ragged, plus a wagon full of new tunics, which purpose we couldn’t adequately explain. So what could I do but pull my dagger and attack? I killed five before the others even blinked. Then the rest swarmed like angry hornets. Soon their bodies were also sprawled across the roadway. Not a Roman soldier was left alive. Up to this point, Hashem had smiled on us. This normally well-traveled road was deserted so no one saw the carnage or that it was I who killed the Romans. But how long would that last? We were at a bend and not easily seen, but soon any number of travelers could appear and see their bodies and my blood-covered garments.

  “So what was to be done but cut the ropes of the captives, give them each a tunic and some food, and urge them to make a hasty departure? Demas and I also grabbed a tunic, food, a water skin, then left the wagons and headed south toward the Jordan where we hid in caves by day and traveled by night. What happened to the other seventy I cannot say. I only pray that Hashem has led them to safety.”

  When I look at the normally confident Demas I don’t like what I see. His face is tense, his brow furrowed. Aaron has not told us everything. There was something more, and I was determined to find out what it was.

  “You have something on your mind?” Demas asks, looking at me sideways.

  I nod. It’s taken me two days, but I’ve finally gotten him alone. The sun has barely risen and I’ve asked Demas to walk with me. He’s obliging, this broad Greek, agreeing to come without even asking why; so unlike the Demas who smashed my jars and foodstuffs with his club.

  We have followed the waterfall downward, and are now lower than our campsite even though Ethan has insisted no one stray from it. He said he’s been hearing strange noises, and fears that Roman patrols are wandering about. I say my husband is weary from too much war for our sentries have seen no signs of any soldiers.

  It’s beautiful here, lush foliage everywhere, and water cascading across boulders and into one small pool after another that forms a glistening chain beneath the sun. I stop and lean against a huge limestone boulder shaded by supple ferns and giant reeds.

  “Tell me what happened the day you and Aaron fought the Romans.” Demas’s lips tighten. I’ve caught him off guard, that much is certain.

  “I . . . didn’t fight the Romans. I’m ashamed to say I left it all to Aaron.” Demas’s face flushes as he looks at me sideways. “It seems I’m only brave when it comes to confronting women or having to use a club on pottery and shelving. But Aaron . . . I’ve never seen such a skilled warrior. And good thing too, since all I can manage with a dagger is to slice up a sausage or two when hungry.”

  “But you watched, you saw. Tell me about it.”

  Demas absently picks the fern. “It was my fault. It should never have happened. Aaron warned me we shouldn’t stray so close to the Kings Highway, that we should turn and go west. But I insisted we go just a little further north to this village I knew that made the best roast piglet I’ve ever eaten, all stuffed with vegetables and thrush and sausages. I couldn’t stop talking about it or telling Aaron how it would be worth the extra walk. I even convinced him to try it. And that wasn’t easy since he claimed, after eating those sausages at your sister’s, he was through with pork. But I suppose after weeks o
f eating gruel and nuts and dried fruit, the thought of eating this delicacy was irresistible. Now I feel only shame for risking all our lives, though at the time I justified it because I also planned to purchase fresh supplies.

  “We were almost at the village when we ran into the Romans. I didn’t answer the questions nearly as well as Aaron would have you believe. I stammered and bumbled my way through them, only adding to their suspicions. Aaron knew it, too. A fight was inevitable. It was the only way Aaron could get us all safely away, for surely death or imprisonment would have been our fate if he had not.”

  “Perhaps you can’t do what Aaron can, but Ethan told me how valuable you have been; how skilled you are at the auction block, at gathering supplies and making sure there was plenty for all. Ethan said a thousand things would have gone wrong if it weren’t for you. You’ve done well for us all.”

  “I can bargain for slaves, buy and sell merchandise, but when it mattered, when Aaron needed me, I did nothing. I just stood there.”

  “Everyone knows you’re not a warrior, Demas. Why do you fault yourself for that?”

  “Because of that look on Aaron’s face. I’ll never forget it; his eyes . . . wild like a wounded animal’s. And afterward, he wept. Like a little child. Sometimes in my dreams I can still hear him.”

  My heart thumps. “Make sense, Demas, for pity’s sake. What is it that you are holding back?”

  Demas sighs and closes his eyes. “An official, in a covered litter, was traveling with the Roman guards, I suppose under their protection. The litter’s thick red curtains were drawn so we didn’t know until later that a child traveled with him, a young girl of perhaps four or five. When the fighting began the six slaves carrying the litter nearly dropped it in their haste to run away. Before it even hit the ground, they were slipping the poles from the straps on their shoulders. That’s when the little girl jumped out in fright. Aaron was in a deadly clash with one of the soldiers, and as he swung his dagger backward, it caught the little girl in the neck, killing her.”