Ya’abin gave a short bark of laughter. “God has overlooked many opportunities to smite Moshe Ya’abin for his terrible deeds. Perhaps he will do it again today.”
“Blasphemy!” Azariah cried in horror.
Eliab aimed a kick at Azariah, who barely leaped aside in time.
“You are a most unreasonable man, Mordechai ben Uzziel,” Ya’abin said, giving Miriam’s father a tiny, hard smile that sent chills up Miriam’s back. “The choice is simple. You may have your daughter back in a few minutes, only slightly soiled, or you may have her back in small pieces. Which would you prefer?”
Mordechai stared in horror for what seemed like an eternity. For a moment Miriam thought he was going to try to attack this awful man, but Mordechai ben Uzziel had sat at too many heavily laden tables, drunk too many goblets of Syrian wine, ridden too many times around the streets of Jerusalem in a litter carried by his servants. Finally he gave a strangled cry. His face crumpled, and he looked away.
Still completely calm, Ya’abin turned to the man with the parchment. “Make it twenty-five thousand for the Sadducee and his daughter.” He jerked his head, and a dazed Mordechai and a muttering Azariah were driven at sword point toward the large oak tree near the center of the camp.
Ya’abin turned to face the women. Livia threw her arms around Miriam and started to cry, but Miriam pushed her away gently and faced the robber squarely. “You will have to cut me to pieces before I submit to you.” Her voice was trembling, but more with fury than with fright.
“Eliab!” Ya’abin tossed the heavy bag of money to his lieutenant. “Watch this and the servant girl. If I am undisturbed, you may have your pick of the two when I am done.” Ya’abin’s hand flashed out with the speed of a striking adder and seized Miriam’s wrist.
But one wrist was not enough. Miriam erupted into a clawing, kicking fury, tearing at his face, arms, and shoulders like a demon. The terror that had paralyzed Livia snapped at the sight of her mistress in battle. She leaped onto Ya’abin’s back to tear at him from behind. A stunned Eliab stared for a moment, then dropped the bag and hurled himself into the fray. But he was a moment too late. With the roar of a wild bull, Ya’abin spun around, hurling Livia off his back. She crashed heavily, her head striking the tent pole. There was one sharp cry; then she slumped to the ground and lay still.
Ya’abin whirled back, and with all the force of a powerfully muscled arm, he caught Miriam full across the face with the back of his hand. She bounced off the wall of the tent and pitched face first into the dirt. Instantly, Ya’abin was over her. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back hard. Miriam felt a sharp pain at the corner of her jaw, but dazed as she was from the blow, it took her a moment to realize the point of his dagger was pressing into her skin hard enough to draw blood. He thrust his face next to hers, the black eyes filled with murder. Blood was starting to ooze from two ugly scratches on his left cheek.
“Now my angry wildcat,” he hissed, “we shall see who is the master here.”
He yanked her up, and pushed her past Livia’s still body. Miriam caught a glimpse of an ugly welt on the side of her servant’s head and saw that Livia’s face was as pale as death. Eliab, finally galvanized into action, stood awkwardly with his sword, wavering between the fallen woman and the captive one.
Ya’abin lifted the flap of the tent with one foot, keeping the dagger up hard against Miriam’s jaw. But just as he was about to push her into the waiting semidarkness, there was a soft whir followed by a dull thudding sound. It was almost lost in the noise of the looting of the camp, but Eliab’s gasp was sharp and distinct.
As both Ya’abin and Miriam whirled and gaped at him, Eliab staggered back, clutching wildly at the feathered shaft that had buried itself in the front of his shoulder. His eyes were filled with shock and surprise as he looked at his leader. “I’ve been hit,” he exclaimed. Then his legs buckled, and he sank slowly to his knees.
II
Ya’abin reacted with incredible swiftness. In one movement he jerked Miriam around, using her body as a shield. He grabbed Eliab with his free hand and dragged him to his feet, all the time screaming, “Attack! Attack!”
In the final stages of looting the camp, his men reacted with equal speed. Spoils were dropped, weapons snatched as they dove for cover. Beneath the oak tree where they had been taken to write the ransom letters, Mordechai and Azariah scrambled behind the massive trunk. Those guarding them sprang into a crouch, swords and bows drawn, their heads jerking sharply as they looked around.
Ya’abin and Eliab reached the cover of the sheltering branches, and Ya’abin shoved Miriam hard toward her father. He snatched up a bow and a quiver, dropping to one knee. “Ithamar! Shaul! Cut down the tents so we have a clear field of fire.”
Two men stood. Before either could move, that same soft whisper sounded. Ithamar screamed and fell back, clutching at an arrow buried in his upper thigh. Shaul promptly forgot about his leader’s orders and dove behind a pile of baskets and boxes.
“Stay down!” Ya’abin screamed, moving back even more into the circle of his men. He was raging now and swung around on Eliab, who was rocking back and forth, moaning as he pressed against the spot where the arrow protruded from his shoulder. “I told you to leave men on the ridge to cover us!”
“I left two,” Eliab shot back, clenching his teeth. “They must be down.”
“Someone’s coming!” The low cry from one of the men brought them all around with a jerk. The man was pointing up the hill into the rising sun, where they could see the dark figure of a man striding down the path toward the camp.
“I can easily take him,” said the man next to Ya’abin, raising his bow. He pulled back the arrow until the feathers of the shaft caressed his cheek. The tip moved slowly, settling in on the dark figure just coming into bowshot.
Miriam tensed and prepared to spring. Whoever that was coming down the hill, he had saved her from Ya’abin. She would not see him die without warning.
But at that moment the man stopped.
“Hold!” Ya’abin commanded softly. “He stands directly in the sun. Let him come into range.”
But the man remained where he was, raising his hands to his mouth. “Ya’abin!”
The call came floating down to them, clear and challenging. Ya’abin started. Who knew that it was his band looting the camp? He straightened slowly, resting one hand on the shoulder of the bowman.
“Put down your weapons. We have no desire for a massacre. If we did, your two men would be dead now and not just wounded.”
Ya’abin took a step forward. “Identify yourself or die!”
The man gave a soft hoot of derision, barely discernible, then raised one hand into the air. “I have two dozen bowmen.”
The thieves stiffened noticeably, glancing around the hillside in fear.
“For a man of such fearsome reputation, Ya’abin,” the voice continued, “you have left yourself in a terrible field position. We can hit any and every man without showing ourselves.”
“He’s bluffing,” the bowman cried.
The raised arm suddenly dropped. From three different directions came the soft hiss of shafts flying, followed by the solid whack of metal tips biting deep into the bark of the tree trunk. Everyone beneath the tree jumped, then stared at the arrows trembling softly just inches from their faces.
Miriam almost laughed aloud when she saw Ya’abin’s twisted face. The setter of the snare was trapped himself. His eyes darted back and forth, uncertain, filled with fear.
The figure above them raised his arm again. “The next volley is for you, Ya’abin. Drop your weapons, and you have my oath that not a man will be harmed.”
Ya’abin stared for several more long seconds; then suddenly his shoulders sagged, and he turned to his men. “Lower your weapons.”
The bowman cursed softly as he let the bow spring back, and he returned the arrow to its place; but the other men jumped eagerly to obey, dropping their swords and daggers, fl
inging aside bows and quivers. Then they stood with hands held clear of their bodies so the unseen marksmen could see they were in total compliance.
Miriam turned and flung herself into her father’s arms with a sob of relief. He swept her up, holding her tight, and she was suddenly aware that he was trembling almost as violently as she was. Behind her the steady crunch of sandals came closer. She straightened and turned to see their deliverer.
If the man’s intent was to make a dramatic entry, he fully accomplished his purpose. Every eye in the camp was fixed on him. No one moved. The only sound, besides the confident stride, was the soft rustling of the oak leaves above their heads. But the intruder seemed unaware of the reaction he was creating. His stride was unhurried and confident, like the supple grace of a leopard padding through a thicket of trees. He wore a sleeveless, knee-length tunic, leather sandals laced around ankle and calf, a short sword in a scabbard on his right hip, in the style of the legionnaires. Powerful muscles rippled under skin burned metallic brown by innumerable days spent in the open. His head was bare, his hair neatly trimmed and touched with sun-bleached highlights of gold. To her surprise, he was clean-shaven. Had he been in uniform, he could easily have been mistaken for a Roman soldier.
As the man came under the shade of the oak and stopped a few feet in front of Ya’abin, Miriam’s eyes widened in surprise. She saw the face of a young man, not much older than herself. And he was almost certainly a Galilean, for though deeply tanned, his skin was fair, his hair light brown, almost blond. She had also heard in his voice the more guttural accent of the northern parts of her country. The eyes were almost sand colored and were touched with flecks of emerald green, like the waters of Kinnereth. She also saw that Ya’abin was a full palm width taller than the stranger. That too surprised her, for he had seemed so tall striding down toward them.
He let his eyes move slowly from man to man, resting briefly on Azariah and Miriam’s father, but stopping only when they met Miriam’s. The face softened. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, involuntarily touching the tiny cut on her jaw and her bruised face. “Yes,” she murmured. “Yes, thank you.”
There was a faint smile, a quick nod; then the eyes continued their probe of the camp, finally stopping on Ya’abin.
“Who are you? What do you want?” Ya’abin’s bravado had noticeably slipped.
Without turning, the man called out loudly. “Yehuda! Leave the others and come down.”
About a hundred paces away, from behind a clump of brush that didn’t look big enough to hide a young boy, a large man slowly straightened, archer’s bow still up and ready. All eyes turned to him except for the Galilean’s. He continued to watch Ya’abin steadily. As the big man walked swiftly down to join his comrade, the bandit leader brought his eyes back to his attacker.
Ya’abin finally regained a little of his courage. “Have you come for a share of the spoils?”
The Galilean’s voice cut in hard and cold. “You are to be more despised than the Romans, for you are a parasite that lives on the flesh of your own people.”
“We can make an arrangement if—”
The man’s mouth clamped down. “My oath protects you to the edge of the camp, Ya’abin. Thereafter I consider myself duty bound to kill you and the vermin that run with you.”
“There is plenty for us both,” Ya’abin cried. “This is Mordechai ben Uzziel, one of the richest men in Jerusalem. The Sanhedrin will pay handsomely for him and his daughter.”
The second man moved up alongside the bronzed Galilean. He was broad shouldered and powerfully built, with jet-black hair and a full beard of the same color. He spoke, his voice a deep rumble of contempt, his accent betraying that he was likewise Galilean. “Does the sparrow beg the eagle for a piece of the carcass?”
“Be gone!” the Galilean said to Ya’abin in a voice made all the more menacing by its softness.
Ya’abin was sputtering. “Our weapons. You can’t send us away with nothing.”
“When we are gone you may cower back like the dogs you are and retrieve them,” Yehuda said. “But take heed. We shall follow you until the sun has reached its zenith. Any man who turns back before then will die.”
To Miriam’s surprise, the Galilean turned to face Eliab, who still clutched at the arrow in his shoulder. “It is not a barbed tip,” he said. “You may pull it out without fear of tearing the flesh.”
Eliab looked startled, then grasped the shaft and jerked, gasping as he did so. The arrow came out easily and he flung it aside, pressing his fingers against the wound again. He looked sick, the corners of his mouth pinched, his eyes somewhat glazed.
The young rescuer pointed to one of the other bandits. “Help the other man that is down.” As the man stood slowly and started for the man writhing on the ground with an arrow in his leg, the young man swung back on Ya’abin. “Go!” he said softly. “The cup of my patience is nearly drained.”
Ya’abin hesitated, but his men didn’t. They broke into a shambling retreat up the hill, looking nervously at every bush and tree they passed. Their leader gave one last look of pure hatred, then started after them. As he got a safe distance away, he turned his head. “We shall meet again, Galilean,” he screamed. “Then you shall learn that Moshe Ya’abin cannot so easily be thrust aside.”
If he heard, the young man gave no sign. Miriam stood and stepped toward him. “My servant girl has been hurt.” She pointed. “May I go to her?” At his quick nod, she hurried past him.
The Galilean turned to Miriam’s father and Azariah. “We must hurry.” He motioned with his head to Mordechai. “Go through the baggage. Find any food that has not been ruined by these wild dogs.” He turned. “You, Pharisee. Get some water and help with the girl.” Without waiting, he and Yehuda stooped down and began collecting the weapons of Moshe Ya’abin and his men and tossing them into a pile.
In a half dozen quick steps, Miriam reached Livia and dropped to the ground beside her. As she lifted Livia’s head, sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She was breathing! The face was ashen white and an ugly blue-black lump protruded from the left temple. But she was breathing!
A moment later Azariah hurried up with a goatskin water bottle and dropped beside her, for the first time seemingly unaware that he was kneeling on contaminated Samaritan soil without a mat. Miriam tore off a piece of her inner nightclothes and held it out. He soaked it with water, and she began gently bathing Livia’s face.
“Praises be to God; blessed be his holy name,” Azariah breathed fervently. He reached up absently and fingered one of his side curls. “The Lord has delivered us out of the hands of the oppressor.”
Miriam shot him a sharp look. “A few of those praises could be directed at the Galilean. He took a deadly risk for us.”
“Aye,” Azariah agreed soberly. “How close we were to tragedy.”
Miriam shuddered, then concentrated on Livia. She moaned, then stirred slightly.
Azariah suddenly lowered his voice. “But could it be that we have been rescued from the jaws of the rat only to fall into the paws of the jackal?” he whispered.
Miriam looked up in surprise.
“Did you not hear the big one’s comment about taking spoils from the eagle?” He clucked his tongue in despair. “We have been delivered from one group of godless outlaws only to fall into the hands of another.”
“If so,” Miriam snapped, “I will gladly take the jackal.” The Galilean’s first spoken words had been to inquire after her welfare, and she sensed his utter contempt for what Ya’abin had been about to do to her. Let him rob them. Let him hold them for ransom. There would be no dagger at her throat and no glittering eyes raging with lust. She was sure of that and would not let a muttering Azariah steal her immense relief.
Livia moaned again, and her eyes fluttered open, though she stared blankly, not recognizing Miriam.
“She is coming out of it.” The deep voice next to her elbow startled Miriam. The big man, Yehuda, had joined th
em without a sound and was looking at Livia with concern. Half of his face was lost in the thick tangle of black beard, but warm brown eyes peered out from beneath shaggy brows.
“She tried to save me,” Miriam said softly, gently bathing the ugly wound on Livia’s head.
He nodded. “We saw it from the hill.” There was a deep sadness in his voice. “We could not shoot for fear of hitting one of you. It was a brave thing you both did.”
Livia turned her head slowly, recognition returning. “Miriam!” She clutched at Miriam’s robes. “Those men—”
“They’re gone, Livia,” Miriam soothed. “They’re all gone now.”
The pale blue eyes lifted to stare at Yehuda, fear still clouding them.
“These men saved us. Ya’abin is gone.”
“She needs water,” Yehuda said, taking the goatskin from Azariah and dropping to one knee. He put the spout to Livia’s lips as Miriam lifted the girl’s head. Livia drank eagerly, then struggled to sit up. Yehuda put a massive hand behind her back and smiled his encouragement.
A noise behind her caused Miriam to turn. The young Galilean and her father had joined them. In one hand, her father had a blanket tied into a sling filled with food. The halter rope of one of their donkeys was in the other. The Galilean looked down at Livia. “How is she?”
“She is awake,” Yehuda answered, standing up to tower a full head over his companion. “She will have a great headache, I think, but she is fine.”
“Then we must leave.” He turned to Miriam. “We shall prop your tent up enough for you to enter. Take her inside and change into traveling clothes quickly. Leave everything else.”
Azariah was up instantly, spluttering like a boiling pot. “Leave everything? Why?”
“Ya’abin is still out there,” Mordechai said. “Aren’t we safer here?”
Yehuda helped Livia up. She stood unsteadily for a moment, clutching at his arm. He smiled down at her. “We really must hurry, for, you see, our leader here is a shameless liar.” The smile slowly faded. “We do not have two dozen men. Besides us, there are only three others!”
Fishers of Men Page 8
