And yet it didn’t surprise Miriam that Azariah had been selected for this mission. The chief Pharisee was a pompous, strutting old brood hen, but he was shrewd, with a mind that ran swifter than a fox with a firebrand tied to its tail. He would not be the only man with the peyot at the conference table tomorrow, and he would see to it that the Pharisees were properly represented in whatever decisions were made. He had absolutely no concern about whether anyone liked him or his peculiar Pharisaic habits in the process.
Her head jerked up sharply as a soft whistle sounded outside. She came up on one elbow. This, she realized with a start, was the sound that had awakened her. She remained motionless, straining to hear. But once again there was nothing but Livia’s soft breathing next to her.
Aware of a sudden chill, Miriam slipped out of bed and moved quietly to the flap of the tent. She opened it a crack and peered out. She had been right. The sun was not yet up, though she could see that in only a few minutes it would be. For a moment the brightness half blinded her. Then a quick movement off to one side caught her eye. Beyond the tent shared by her father and Azariah, the donkeys were munching on wisps of grass. A tail flicked, and for a moment Miriam thought it was that which had caught her eye. But a few rods farther on, near a large oak tree, something moved again. It was Joab, her father’s steward and chief servant. He was beckoning urgently to someone out of Miriam’s line of sight.
Alarmed, Miriam darted to her bed, threw on her outer robe, then dropped to the small chest that held her things. Pawing quickly, she found the stubby dagger that was a gift from one of her many suitors. In an instant she was at the back wall of the tent slashing at the stitching. The steward of a rich man’s house had a great deal of trust, and Joab had more than most. But Miriam did not like the man. His studied servitude seemed strained to her, and his fawning never touched his eyes. To whom was he beckoning at dawn in the wilds of Samaria? She put one eye to the slit. What she saw froze her blood. More than a dozen men were slipping down the hill toward the camp. Their hands were filled with drawn swords or bows and arrows.
In two leaps she was at Livia’s side, shaking her roughly. “Livia! Wake up! The camp is under attack!”
Miriam whirled, found her sandals and jammed her feet into them, then spun back around. Her servant girl was wide awake, her eyes large and frightened, the long honey-blonde hair in wild disarray.
“Joab has betrayed us!” Miriam hissed. “I must warn Father!”
Miriam burst from the door of her tent and ran directly into the arms of a tall bearded man. As he grabbed her and yanked her around, pinning her arms to her side, she screamed out. Joab had hired half a dozen men to serve as their escort to Sepphoris. This man was one of them. Miriam had found them all repulsive and stayed clear of them as much as possible. She didn’t even know this man’s name.
“Ha!” the man crowed triumphantly. “The bird flies from the nest into the net.” His mouth pressed against her ear. “You must learn to look more closely when you peek from the door of your tent. You give yourself away.”
Another person appeared from behind the tent. He was another of those hired by Joab. Miriam felt her heart plummet as she realized that Joab’s betrayal was complete.
The second man leaned forward, thrusting his face so close to Miriam’s that she could smell the foul odor of wine on his breath. “Tell me,” he leered to his comrade, “do you hold her tightly so she will not flee or because you like the softness of her body?” He threw back his head and cackled hideously. His head snapped forward again, and he grabbed at her arm. “Let me have a turn guarding the little bird.”
Miriam spat directly into the pockmarked face. The man recoiled as though struck by a ball of molten lead, but the other hooted in delight. “Stand back, or the bird will peck out your eyes.”
But the first man was not laughing. His eyes were murderous, and the mouth, almost hidden in the tangle of black beard, was twisted and ugly. He slowly wiped off the spittle with the back of his hand; then he pulled a dagger from his belt. “Our beautiful mistress has no respect for her servants,” he muttered. “Let us teach her who is master now.”
For a moment, Miriam nearly screamed again, but then the sight of the gleaming blade brought sudden recollection to her. Though her arms were pinned by the powerful grip of the taller man, her forearms were free and she still held her dagger in her right hand. Her hand jerked up, then down, plunging the steel into the flesh of the man’s upper leg. He shrieked with pain, and Miriam was free. She whirled to face her second captor.
Stunned surprise instantly turned to pleasure. “So the bird has claws,” he breathed. “Excellent. I shall cut them out.”
He lunged at her, knife flashing. But he had taken too much wine, and he moved like a cow heavy with calf. Miriam side-stepped easily, her own dagger coming up. The man lumbered to a stop, staring first at her, then stupidly at his hand. It no longer held his dagger, and the back of it was red with blood.
“Miriam! Watch out!” Livia’s sharp warning, hissed from behind her, spun Miriam around. Half a dozen men came running up. They slid to a stop at the sight of the two wounded men and the woman with blazing eyes and flashing dagger.
Breathing hard and holding the blade high, Miriam moved quickly to put her back to the tent wall. Livia, still clad in her sleeping robes, stepped out of the tent to stand beside her mistress. Pale with fright, she nevertheless stood shoulder to shoulder with Miriam and faced the ring of men that was rapidly swelling in numbers.
There was a hoarse cry of rage, and the circle gave way. The servant who had first grabbed her limped forward, swearing incoherently. As he passed through the encircling men, a tall, lean man with the face of a ferret grabbed the back of his tunic and jerked sharply. His feet flew out from under him, and he hit the ground hard.
The others roared with laughter. “Let him go!” cried one. “I’ll put ten shekels on the woman.”
At the sight of the ferret—clearly the group’s leader—the second man stopped short, clutching his hand to stop the bleeding. The other servant got back to his feet, his eyes filled with hate—not for Miriam now but for the man who had pulled him down.
“The dead are worth nothing to me,” the ferret snarled. “I told you that the women were not to be touched.” There was a grunt of disgust. “I have no use for bread soggy with wine. Be gone!”
“What?” the first man cried. “What about our share of the spoils?”
The ferret-faced man didn’t bother to answer but turned back around to face Miriam. Something snapped inside his pickled brain. With a cry, the second man retrieved his dagger from the ground and lunged forward. Quick as he was, the man standing next to the bandit leader was quicker. Miriam gasped as a sword flashed. The heavy metal butt caught the attacker just below his right ear, and he went down like a stalk of wheat beneath the blade of the scythe.
The leader looked at the man’s partner. “You have until I count to a hundred to get your friend and be gone or you shall both get more than your share of the spoils.”
Trembling, the man grabbed at his partner’s arm and helped him to his feet. They shuffled away as the other men jeered and kicked dust on them.
The bandit leader turned to Miriam. “You will drop the knife now.”
The words didn’t register. Things had happened so swiftly.
“I said that you will drop the knife now.”
Miriam looked up, bringing the dagger up higher.
“Eliab!”
A short man with glittering black eyes stepped forward, nocking an arrow in his bow. He drew it back to the point. When the arrow leveled it was pointed directly at Miriam’s chest.
Somewhere in the back of Miriam’s mind, Livia’s horrified gasp registered. But she didn’t turn. With a great effort of will she forced herself to meet the gaze of the ferret. She gave a quick, almost imperceptible shake of her head and stepped in front of Livia. “The dead are of no worth to you, remember?”
The man thr
ew back his head and laughed in delight, revealing badly discolored teeth. “Now I see why you have never married and why Joab so willingly betrays you.” He chuckled again, then sheathed his dagger and folded his arms. Eliab released the pressure on the bow and returned the arrow to its quiver and also stood back to wait.
In a moment Miriam understood why. From her father’s tent there came a muffled shout, then brief sounds of struggle. The flap of the tent opened, and Joab came out. Behind him four men with drawn swords herded her father and Azariah the Pharisee toward them.
“Bring them here,” the tall one called, his eyes never leaving Miriam’s. The ring of men stepped back as the prisoners were brought inside the circle. There was a quick look of relief from her father when he saw her; then he was jerked around to face the bandit leader.
“You are Mordechai ben Uzziel the Sadducee, member of the Great Sanhedrin of Jerusalem?”
Miriam’s father just glowered in defiance. The dark eyes of the bandit leader lifted briefly to those of the chief steward. Joab nodded. “This is he.”
“I am Moshe Ya’abin. Perhaps you have heard of me?”
Mordechai’s eyes widened perceptibly. Behind him Azariah gasped. His side curls bounced and danced as his head jerked in surprise. Then the Pharisee instantly recovered. “Who has not heard of the beast who feeds on the blood of his own people and terrorizes all of Judea?” He spat in contempt.
Ya’abin’s mouth twitched slightly in what Miriam supposed was meant to be a smile. “We all engage in plunder, Azariah of the Pharisees. You and Mordechai here simply go about yours with a little more refinement than we do.”
He motioned with his head toward Miriam. “This is your daughter?”
Miriam started, but again it was the chief steward who provided the answer with a quick nod. Ya’abin did not turn but kept looking at her father. “I will begin to count. If the knife is still in your daughter’s hand when I reach three, you will die.” He seemed faintly amused.
Eliab once again began to nock his bow.
“One . . . ”
Miriam’s shoulders sagged as the dagger plopped softly in the dust.
“That’s better.” He turned. “Eliab! Watch the two women. You are not to touch them unless they attempt to escape.” The black eyes looked Miriam up and down appreciatively. “If they do, you are free to do with them what you will.”
Livia gave an involuntary shudder as Eliab stepped forward, lust naked in his eyes. Catcalls of encouragement rang out from the circle of men. But now it was Miriam’s father who had found his courage. He leaned forward against the grip of his captors, his voice low and trembling with fury. “If you so much as touch my daughter—”
Ya’abin gave the older man a long, almost amused look. “Where is the money?”
Mordechai hesitated for only a second, then laughed derisively. “Only a fool travels in these times with money on his person.”
Miriam watched sadly. It was a brave show, but even from where she stood she could see the nervous tic at the corner of her father’s mouth as he tried to meet Ya’abin’s stare.
“He keeps it in a bag buried in a hole dug beneath his bed,” Joab said quickly.
Miriam’s father lunged at Joab, breaking free, his fingers aimed for his throat. “You dare to betray me!”
Even as the guards leaped forward and seized Mordechai again, Joab fell back, his face white.
Ya’abin roared in delight. “I don’t think your master is pleased with you, Joab.” The laughter died as suddenly as it had erupted. “How much does he have?”
“I am not sure,” Joab blurted. His eyes momentarily flitted to the disappearing figures of his two hired henchmen. There was a quick nervous flick of his tongue. “He brings funds from the Sanhedrin to bribe the Zealot leaders. It is in gold. Perhaps as much as five thousand shekels.”
Ya’abin turned to his men. “Bring the money to me. Anything else in the camp is yours.”
It was like setting a pack of dogs loose on a downed ox. Howling and shouting, Ya’abin’s men raced through the small encampment. Tents were slashed open even though nothing prevented them from going through the front flap. Saddlebags were ripped apart, baskets and barrels smashed or overturned. They snatched at everything in sight and, like the dogs they were, snarled at the slightest encroachment on their territory. Their leader seemed oblivious to it all as he waited. In a few moments, two men came from Mordechai’s tent straining under the weight of a thick leather bag bulging with coins. At the same moment, Miriam heard Livia’s quick intake of breath. She turned to see a heavily bearded man in a filthy tunic run from their tent, swinging a golden necklace, the only piece of jewelry she had brought with her.
Miriam shook her head in quick warning to Livia, then whirled to face Joab. “For years I have told Father that he had taken a serpent into his bosom.”
The chief steward took one menacing step toward her. “And for years I have awaited this moment with great anticipation. I have endured your icy contempt and haughty superiority. Now I will be present when you are sold to the Parthians. They are men who know how to make a woman meet their every whim.”
“Ya’abin!” Miriam’s father was not intimidated by the men who still held him tightly.
The robber leader turned slowly to face his captive.
“I am a wealthy man. My household will pay handsomely for our release. Far more than the Parthians can pay.”
Ya’abin gazed out across the camp where the looting and plundering were in full sway. Finally he nodded thoughtfully. “One would be a fool not to have thought of that.”
Joab’s head jerked around.
“And whatever else may be said of Moshe Ya’abin, let it not be said that he is a fool.”
He snapped his fingers, and Eliab reached inside the folds of his tunic and withdrew a parchment scroll. “You shall draft a letter and sign it with your own hand. We shall send a messenger to Jerusalem. When they have returned with the money, you shall be freed.”
Joab lunged forward. “No!” He thrust his face next to Ya’abin’s. “You promised them to me. I must have time to appropriate his estate.”
Ya’abin’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, but when he spoke, his voice was calm, almost conversational. “Joab, my friend, I spoke of being a fool. Anyone who trusts another is a fool. A man who trusts a thief is the greatest fool of all.”
“You can’t do this!”
“To the contrary. As long as I do not bother the Romans, Pontius Pilate, our esteemed Roman governor, doesn’t much care what we Jews do to one another.” He laughed. “And if he does, where shall he look to find us?” Without noticeably changing tone, the voice took on the sudden menace of Eliab’s nocked bow. “Since you have been of service to me, friend Joab, I will tell you what I shall do. I will allow you to leave now along with your two associates. It will be three days before your master is released and can begin searching for you. That should give you a comfortable head start.”
“Flee quickly,” Miriam spat, as Joab rocked back, suddenly white. “My father may someday tire of searching for you, but I never will!”
“I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth, Joab!” Mordechai said, still trembling with the outrage of being betrayed by the one he most trusted.
Beads of perspiration had formed on Joab’s lower lip and trickled into the neatly trimmed beard that hid his mouth. He looked at Ya’abin, then at Mordechai.
Miriam’s father turned to Ya’abin. “I will add a thousand shekels to the ransom if you send him back to Jerusalem with us.”
Again Ya’abin threw back his head and hooted as Joab paled even more. “Surely, O great leader of the Sanhedrin, there must be some honor, even among the dishonorable.” His voice instantly became as hard and cold as the blade of a sword. “Unless, of course, Joab were to try my patience and lead me to believe that he did not appreciate the great generosity of Moshe Ya’abin in letting him leave now.”
Joab hesitated only one instan
t, then turned and fled, his long robes clutched up around his knees. Ya’abin’s men roared with delight as he scrambled away like a beetle with hot olive oil on his tail. Ya’abin looked around at the faces of the other men Joab had hired, his eyes hard. “Do any of the rest of you feel I have treated your employer unfairly?”
No one moved.
“Good.” Still chuckling to himself, Ya’abin turned and handed the scroll to Mordechai. “You will go over there beneath the tree and write.”
To that point the voice of Moshe Ya’abin had been pleasant, but as he turned to face Azariah the Pharisee it turned raw with undisguised contempt. “You too, Pharisee. You hide behind your long robes and pious prayers and your dancing side curls, but you are as avaricious and corrupt as any man in the camp. You too shall pay for your freedom.”
He handed the parchment to the man guarding her father. “See that they both sign. I think twenty thousand shekels for father and daughter should suffice. Ask five for the Pharisee. Only his own family would think he is worth that much.”
He swung around to face Miriam even as Azariah began to sputter. “Meanwhile, I would like to get better acquainted with this woman who talks and fights like a man.”
The color drained from Miriam’s face as Livia clutched at her arm. Mordechai spun back around, his mouth hard. “No!” he cried. “We are paying for our freedom.”
Azariah shook his fist at Ya’abin. “God will smite you if you add this horrible curse to your many other crimes.”
Fishers of Men Page 7
