Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  There was a long moment of silence, and Marcus found himself holding his breath. Then, “Did you bring a shovel as instructed?”

  Marcus retrieved a short-handled wooden spade from the back of his belt and held it up, relief flooding over him. Simeon had bought it.

  “You are standing beside arch number four. Move north three more arches. Start digging directly beneath the center of the arch. You will have to go down about a cubit and a half.”

  Marcus almost laughed out loud. The gold had been this close all that time. He had feared that Simeon would lead them into the mountains or some other isolated spot. Turning his head, he called out to his men once more. “Stay with the prisoners,” he said.

  Beneath the seventh arch Marcus stuck the torch in the sand and began to dig. The sand was firm but easily cut through. A minute later there was a solid clunk as wood struck something hard. He felt a burst of exultation. Grabbing the torch, he knelt down beside the hole. Scooping out the sand with one hand, in a moment he had uncovered a white cloth wrapped around something square and hard. In one quick movement he had his dagger out and slashed open the cloth.

  He sat back on his heels. It was there, just as promised. Three bars of gold glowed like an amber lamp from within the hole. He heard a gasp, then realized it came from his own mouth. It was hard not to take in breath at the sight of this kind of wealth.

  “Satisfied?” the voice said, directly above him now. Marcus jumped to his feet, grabbed the torch, and moved out from under the arch. He could still not see where Simeon was.

  “Release my men,” Simeon demanded.

  Marcus turned. “You heard him,” he shouted. “Release the prisoners, then step back to your horses.” A crouching shadow flitted past the corner of his eye. He fought the temptation to look up, keeping his eye fixed on his men. The other two gags were removed, the chains unlocked and allowed to fall to the ground. As soon as that was done, the three soldiers moved back to stand beside their horses.

  “Yehuda,” Simeon called. “There are bows and swords just behind the first arch.” As Yehuda, Barak, and Samuel started to move, Simeon stepped into view directly above Marcus. “Tribune, I’ll ask you to wait by your horses until we are gone; then you can have your gold.”

  Marcus answered with a derisive bark. “I don’t think so,” he shot back. Then he cupped his hands. “To your bows!” He leaped backward, darting beneath the arch again to where Simeon could no longer see him.

  Yehuda, Barak, and Samuel whirled. The three men at the horses had obviously anticipated this command, for they now had bows out and drawn. Metal tipped shafts gleamed in the torchlight. They were pointed directly at the three prisoners who had been in bonds just moments before. The three Zealots froze, shocked into immobility.

  “Tell your men to hold, Simeon, or they die.”

  To his credit, Simeon did not drop back down to hide in the water channel. He stood in astonishment, staring at the bowmen. “So this is how you honor your word?” he cried.

  “You need to be more careful what you ask for,” Marcus sneered. “I told you I would release them, which I have done. Now come down before your men die.”

  “You think honor is a game of words?”

  “Listen to me, Simeon!” Marcus hissed. “Pilate himself gave these men their instructions. It will not make any difference what I say to them. If you or your friends make a move, these soldiers are instructed to kill all of you.”

  “Better the swiftness of the shaft than the horror of the cross.” It was a hoarse cry, the pain so twisted his voice.

  “Your choice,” Marcus said softly, “but make it before I count to five, or we’ll make it for you.”

  Simeon glanced over his shoulder toward the water, knowing that he could jump down to the soft sand below, keeping the aqueduct between him and the Romans, race to where the boat was anchored, and live to fight another day. Just as quickly, he knew that it would end the lives of the three he had come to save.

  He turned back, withdrew the sword from his scabbard, and tossed it down. He stepped to the edge of the stonework and dropped to the sand below. When Simeon straightened, Marcus had Simeon’s own sword in his hand. In an instant it was at his throat. He saw that his men had the three prisoners again and gave Simeon a shove. “Move.”

  Simeon didn’t stir. “You and I carry scars from that day you came to our home, Marcus Didius,” he said, his voice low. “I on my chest, you on your arm. That was a day of shame for you. I could see it in your eyes. But what you have done this night will leave a scar on your heart that will live with you forever.”

  “I had no choice,” Marcus answered, clearly stung. “You were a simpleton not to see that. Now move, or die.”

  iv

  Caesarea

  “Yehuda?”

  Simeon listened intently in the silence of the dungeon, hearing nothing but the occasional drip of water from the far corner—the corner nearest to the sea, if his sense of direction had not failed him.

  “Yehuda!” He whispered louder this time, more insistent.

  From the cell next to him, he heard something stir.

  “Yehuda! Can you hear me?” He cocked his head in the direction of the stairs. When he had tried this about two hours before, it had immediately brought down one of the guards, who kicked at him savagely. His side still hurt every time he moved, and he wondered if the man’s boot had cracked a rib. But all above them had been quiet now for over an hour. He hoped the guard was asleep.

  More stirrings, and then he heard the soft clinking of the chains. Their cells—no more than narrow rectangles open on one end—each had thick iron rings embedded about waist high in the rear wall. The manacles attached to his wrists were heavy and thick. Whatever blacksmith had been hired to forge the bonds had done his work well. The metal edges had already rubbed skin away, and both of Simeon’s wrists were on fire. The chains were long enough to allow only enough movement for him to reach the small bucket in the corner or to shift positions slightly when he was laying on the cold floor.

  Holding his arms up so as to minimize any rattle of the chains, he edged as close to the front of his cell as possible. “Yehuda?”

  “I hear you.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Actually, I seem to have two heads at the moment, both of them pounding rather fiendishly in perfect harmony.”

  As they had reached the main gate of the Praetorium, Marcus Didius had dismounted to help the two guards on duty open the gate. The moment he was off his horse, Yehuda had lunged for the soldier next to him. Though his hands were manacled he had managed to grab the man’s throat, and they crashed to the ground. Unfortunately, Yehuda had been on the bottom, and his head hit hard against the paving stones. That abruptly ended whatever wild scheme he had in his mind. “That was a foolish thing you did out there.”

  “You’re talking to me about being foolish?” Yehuda asked incredulously.

  Simeon shifted his weight slightly, wincing as the iron bracelets cut into his wrists again. He moved back a little to give himself more slack. “I thought I had it worked out so carefully.”

  “You thought that the tribune would keep his word, didn’t you.”

  Simeon didn’t answer. There was nothing to say.

  “What’s happened to you, Simeon?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The Ha’keedohn I once knew would have had that Roman trussed up on the ground like a chicken waiting for slaughter, not depending on his word—” there was a mimicking tone—“as a Roman officer.”

  “I didn’t trust him,” Simeon began. “I—” But then he stopped. What did it matter now?

  “What has this Jesus done to you?”

  Simeon closed his eyes and laid his head down on his arms. That was a question echoing in his own mind at the moment.

  When he didn’t answer, Yehuda’s voice grew sharper. “And you’re still convinced that he is the Messiah?”

  “More than th
at, Yehuda. Much more than that.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  There was a sound from off to their left, and both men froze for a moment. Another chain clanked, and they realized it was one of the other prisoners farther down the line. Simeon relaxed again.

  “How are Shana and Daniel?” Yehuda asked after a while.

  Simeon’s breath drew in sharply, and a cold more penetrating than the stones beneath the thin layer of straw seeped into his body. “Have you had no word at all since your arrest?”

  “What?” he scoffed. “Do you think they bring us mail with our daily ration of moldy bread and filthy water?”

  Simeon took in a deep breath. “Daniel’s dead, Yehuda.”

  There was the scrape of metal on stone, and a soft grunt of pain, as if he had been struck.

  Simeon began to talk, his voice strained with emotion. He described that night—how, as he charged down the hill, he suddenly realized that Daniel was no longer by his side, how he had found Daniel with the arrow in his stomach, how he had carried him on his back for what seemed like an eternity, and finally how he and his father had buried Daniel somewhere in the forest.

  When he stopped it was silent for a long time; then, finally, Yehuda’s voice rumbled in the darkness. “Ah, Daniel, Daniel.” Then, after another long silence, “And Shana?”

  Simeon paused for a moment. “I released her from our betrothal.”

  There was a deep sigh. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry,” he cried. “I asked for your help in a cause that was not yours, to do something that you did not believe in. She is right to hold me responsible.”

  Yehuda didn’t answer. Three or four minutes went by and Simeon pictured his silent grieving for his younger brother. Then finally, “I knew you would come.” There was a bitter chuckle, tinged with irony. “I wasn’t sure how you would do it. I couldn’t imagine that you would be so stupid as to actually try something like this. But I knew you would try something.”

  Simeon pulled a face. How he loved this old friend with whom he had shared so much. “So you were sure it would be stupid?”

  “I was.”

  “This was my best idea,” Simeon said sardonically. “You should have heard my other plan.”

  Another sigh. “But thank you. At least that much hasn’t changed.”

  “I had to try. I am so sorry, Yehuda. For everything. For Daniel especially.”

  “Well, we always said that if we were going to go, we’d like to go together.”

  “Have they told you they’re holding you—holding us—for some Roman games in the fall?”

  “Yes, they did tell us that much. You’ve got to love these Romans. String out the anticipation and horror for as long as possible.”

  There was another long pause; then, much more subdued, Yehuda spoke again. “You know what they want, don’t you?”

  Simeon’s head lifted. “Yes.” He hesitated. “Did they—?”

  “Oh, they threatened me a couple of times. They took me to the room where they have all their little devices—a rack, a scourging post—but I guess I convinced the tribune I knew nothing before it got out of hand. It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.” He didn’t mention the stripes on his back.

  The silence stretched on for another minute. “It’s time to worry about yourself, Simeon. I convinced Marcus that I didn’t know anything, but they know that you know. There will be no mercy for you.”

  Simeon shrugged in the darkness.

  “It won’t be pretty, Simeon.”

  “I won’t tell. I can’t. There’s too much at stake.”

  “You may not have a choice.”

  “There is always a choice,” Simeon answered softly.

  Finally, after a long time, Yehuda spoke again. “I’m sorry about Shana, Simeon. I really am. I wish we could get word to her somehow. Knowing what you did last night would make a difference to her.”

  “I think it’s a little late for that,” Simeon responded. He uttered a short, bitter laugh. He lifted his arms and rattled the chains a little. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s a little late for much of anything now.”

  He pushed back into the cell and sat up against the cold stones. If his despair earlier in the night had been sharp as a spear point, now it completely engulfed him, like a desert sandstorm sweeping in upon him, choking him in smothering darkness.

  Simeon knew that by nature he was brash, impetuous, and often overly bold. There had been times when that brashness had nearly brought disaster. But this time he had been so careful. He had not rushed off to action. His motives were profoundly different. He had prayed and pondered and searched. He had never felt so confident before that he had chosen the right path.

  That confidence was utterly shaken now. Would he ever be able to trust his own judgment again? Three talents of gold and what had it bought? A cell and a cross for himself. Absolutely nothing for Yehuda, Barak, and Samuel. The gravest danger for Miriam and Livia.

  For all his brave words to the contrary, Simeon knew that Yehuda was right. The Romans were capable of breaking any man, no matter how fierce the determination to resist. There would be no opportunity to take his life to protect his secret, as he had so foolishly boasted to Marcus. The tribune had given the strictest instructions to the guards that he be given nothing he could use to hurt himself. Not only had he failed in every way for himself and his comrades, but now Miriam was also at terrible risk.

  He folded his arms on his knees and laid his head down on them. “O God, what did I do wrong? I wanted to do thy will. I was so sure that all of this was from thee. Is this what my faith has wrought?”

  The only answer was the soft drip, drip, drip of water in the far corner of the dungeon.

  Chapter 12

  Howbeit this kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.

  —Matthew 17:21

  I

  Outside Capernaum 10 July, a.d. 30

  They were seated on the ground in a tight circle, eating the simple meal that Deborah and Rachel had prepared for them. At the moment, the family of David ben Joseph and their guests from Joppa and Jerusalem were eating. Jesus had stopped his teaching about half an hour before, when Peter and others of the Twelve brought some food for him. When it became obvious there would be a break for a time, those wise enough to bring food with them had also sat down to partake. Others had started quickly for Capernaum, no more than half a mile away, to eat at home or purchase what they could if they were from another village. Now the crowd was mostly back, and they expected Jesus to start again soon.

  The family talked quietly about the events of the day. There had been nothing spectacular, not in terms of miracles or other remarkable events, but Miriam, Livia, Lilly, and Ezra were completely satisfied. Jesus had stayed close around Capernaum for several days, and they had been able to hear him every day. Miriam especially was grateful for that. This was their next to last day here. The day after tomorrow they had to leave for Caesarea if they were to meet her father in time to embark for Rome. No one talked about that now. It brought too much pain to all of them.

  Suddenly young Joseph tugged on his mother’s sleeve. “Mama, look. It’s Uncle Aaron.”

  Startled, Deborah turned around and raised up to her knees. They were in a large meadow, used as winter pasture for a small herd of cattle and sheep. During the summer, as it was now, the animals went to the hills to feast on the high grasses there. Empty now, the pasture made a good assembly point for a large crowd. It was from the south end of the field, next to the main road between Capernaum and Tiberias, that a tight knot of men was approaching. They were led by Amram, the chief of the Pharisees in Capernaum. But alongside him was Deborah’s younger brother.

  For a moment Deborah thought they might be coming to hear Jesus, but they passed by, shooting glaring looks and uttering imprecations as they went.

  “I don’t think they liked Jesus calling them hypocrites the other day,” Ezra said with a smile.


  Two days before, while Jesus was teaching the multitudes, this same group of Pharisees had accosted Jesus about eating his food without going through the proper ritual purification. With his usual practicality, Jesus told them that it was not what went into the mouth of a man that defiled him, but what came out. Then Jesus had turned the tables on them. He called them hypocrites for worrying about such things while they neglected more important parts of the law, such as caring for one’s aged parents or watching out for the widows and orphans that dwelt among them. Greatly offended, they had stomped off and not been back since.

  Livia responded to Ezra’s comment. “Did you know that hypocrite comes from a Greek word? It has a very interesting derivation. Do you know of it?”

  David answered. “I know it means a person who pretends to be something he or she isn’t.”

  “Yes,” Livia said, “but originally, a hypocrite was an actor. In the ancient Greek dramas, actors would hold up masks before their faces so that their real identity was hidden. Isn’t that the perfect description of people like Amram?” she asked. “They want people to think they are one kind of person, but it’s really only a mask.”

  David was intrigued. “And when Jesus tears the mask away for all to see, they are furious with him.”

  Deborah barely heard the interchange. She was still watching Aaron. He turned one last time, obviously looking to see if his sister was among the crowd. She didn’t think he had seen her. She sighed and looked at David. “So my brother is still here in Capernaum.”

  David nodded. “I wonder how Hava feels about that.” He turned to the others. “Hava is Aaron’s wife. They have three little children, and Aaron has been here for two weeks at least.”

  “Well,” Leah said, tartly, which was very much unlike her, “I think it’s terrible that he won’t come and see us anymore just because we were baptized.”

  Deborah just sighed. She felt a touch on the shoulder and turned. It was Miriam. “Your brother. My father. No wonder Jesus said that sometimes our foes would be those of our own households.”

  “Yes. It becomes one of the hardest choices, doesn’t it.”