“Let’s go on,” Miriam said without hesitation.
“I agree,” Lilly chimed in.
They turned to Livia, fully expecting her to agree, but to their surprise, she didn’t respond.
“Livia?” Ezra asked.
She seemed to come out of her thoughts. “I think I understand it now,” she said.
Miriam, still sleepy from a short and miserable night on a straw pallet, looked blankly at her. “Understand what?”
“The parable.”
For several seconds, that won her only blank looks; then Lilly spoke. “You mean the parable about the unjust judge?”
“Yes.” Livia colored slightly at their puzzled looks. “It may help us decide about Ezra’s proposal.”
Miriam wasn’t following this very well. “You mean about breakfast?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t mean we stay here to decide. Let’s start and I can tell you on the way.”
Miriam gave her a strange look. Since yesterday morning, she had thought about little else besides Simeon and Yehuda in prison. It seemed like weeks ago that they had listened to Jesus speak about prayer.
They collected their things and went out to the corral behind the inn where the carriage was parked and the horse stabled. Fifteen minutes later they were on their way again, moving down a precipitous and serpentine road which dropped down into the Jezreel Valley. Lilly sat beside Ezra on the front seat of the carriage. Livia and Miriam were in the back.
“All right,” Lilly said, once they were on level ground again and could relax. “Let’s hear this explanation of yours.”
Livia was a little reticent. She had blurted out her thoughts without thinking. Now she was a little chagrined. “I think I may know what Jesus meant. I’m not absolutely sure, but I’d like to know what you think.”
Lilly swung her legs over and slid back to sit between the other two women. “Go on.”
“Well,” Livia began, “the key for me was the question David asked us yesterday morning.”
“Which question?” Miriam demanded.
Livia was thoughtful. “You have to remember that the very concept of God being a loving heavenly Father, a being who knows us and cares for us and hears our prayers, is still quite strange to me. In Greece our gods were barely worthy of adoration, let alone real worship. So when David asked why pray at all if God already knows what we need, that was an intriguing concept to me.”
Ezra turned his head. “That is the key question for me, too,” he admitted. “Jesus suggested that we not only ask, but that we ask again and again.”
“That got me thinking,” Livia said, “about my own parents, or especially my mother. My mother loved my brother and me very deeply. So when I asked her for something, I didn’t have to beg, if—” She stopped. “And this is a big if. If it was something she felt I should have.”
“Go on,” Miriam encouraged.
“I mean, sometimes she didn’t want me to have something, so she simply said no.”
“As I assume God does for us,” Lilly responded.
“Yes. Then it occurred to me there were basically only three ways my mother would answer one of my requests. She could say no, which she often did. She could say yes, which she did if she thought it was best for me.” She stopped, hoping one of them would see the third alternative, but they didn’t, so she finished it for them. “Or she could say, not yet.”
“Not yet?” Lilly asked, clearly puzzled.
“For example, one time I remember asking Mother if she would teach me how to sew. My mother made beautiful dresses for the mistress of the house in Alexandria. I wanted to be able to do that, so I asked her if I could learn how to do it. Her answer was yes, but not yet.”
“Why?” Miriam asked, finally seeing that Livia really had thought this through.
“Because I wasn’t ready. She said that first I had to learn about taking flax and turning it into linen, about how to card wool, or how to weave cloth. When I had done that, then I could begin to sew. She didn’t object to my request; it is just that I wasn’t ready for it. I had to do some other things first.”
When the others began to slowly nod as that concept sunk in, the excitement in Livia rose. She was talking more quickly now. “I was thinking about Mother when I remembered what Jesus said as he started the parable. Remember? He said it was meant to teach us to pray and not give up. Why would he say that?”
She didn’t wait for them to answer. “Think about it. If God is really a loving father, then he can say yes to our requests, or no sometimes. Or he can say . . . ” She let her words hang expectantly.
Ezra swung around, his eyes showing surprise. “Or he can say yes, but not yet.”
Livia could have shouted aloud. “Yes, Ezra! I wasn’t happy with my mother’s answer about sewing. I didn’t want to do all those other things first. I wanted my answer now. For a time, I decided I would just give up on the idea.”
Miriam was staring at her friend as comprehension dawned on her too. “So what we think may be a ‘no’ answer, might simply be no answer—yet?”
“I hadn’t thought of it in quite that way,” Livia said, “but yes. And then we give up and stop asking.” Her eyes were alive with excitement as she looked back and forth between Lilly and Miriam. “Now think about what Jesus taught the disciples when they asked why they couldn’t cure that poor boy the day before yesterday. He said some things require prayer and fasting. Why?”
“Because ‘this kind,’” Ezra answered softly, “‘this kind,’ as Jesus said it, won’t come out with just the normal effort. Something greater has to be done.” Then he snapped his fingers. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “The disciples had tried to cure the boy, but when they couldn’t, they gave up. They assumed the Lord’s answer was, ‘No, you can’t do this.’”
“Exactly!” Livia exulted.
Miriam was concentrating fiercely, the understanding starting to unfold, like a rose slowly opening its petals. “So then . . . ” She stopped, not sure yet how to express it.
But Lilly was ahead of her. “If God didn’t hold back the answer sometimes, we would never go to that higher level of desire and effort. If he said yes to every request immediately, we would never experience any growth.”
Livia was ecstatic. “Does that make sense to you? It isn’t that prayer changes God’s mind. It changes our minds.”
Miriam sat back, filled with wonder. This was a side of Livia she had never seen before, and it left her humbled and feeling ashamed of her own denseness. Why hadn’t she seen all that?
The carriage rolled on for almost a full minute with no one speaking. Then, finally, Livia brought the conversation around to what had started it all. “Ezra,” she said, “what if when we get to that spring, we don’t eat breakfast at all? What if while the horse is resting, we spend our time in prayer and begin a fast. I would say that having Simeon in prison is a problem large enough to merit a special effort to get an answer, wouldn’t you?”
III
Caesarea
“Hey, you! Acus!”
Simeon lifted his head, trying to pull himself up out of the depths of a fitful sleep. He jerked as a sharp blow slammed into the bottom of his bare foot.
“Wake up, O Great Needle. You’ve got a visitor.”
Scrambling back deeper into the cell to escape another blow, Simeon saw two things at the same time. He saw that this was a new guard he hadn’t seen before. He had a huge bulbous nose and crooked front teeth. Simeon also noticed that the stairway in the far corner of the dungeon was visible and the light, though dim, was not yellowish. So it was day again. Somewhere up above them the sun was actually shining. It was the only way he had of knowing.
Then a second figure stepped into his narrow field of vision. “I’ll be fine. Leave us.”
The guard saluted sharply and backed away. As he disappeared, Simeon heard a raucous cackle and a muttered comment about acus and pilum.
When the guards had brought Simeon in that first night,
one of them had told the others they had finally caught the famous Zealot leader called the Javelin, or in Latin, pilum. Then in contempt, he said, “He is not a pilum now. He is only an acus, a common tailor’s needle.” His comrades had found that uproariously funny and now threw it in his face each time they saw him. It said much about their existence in this place of foul smells and fouler deeds that they found so much amusement in such a jibe.
The figure stepped to the opening of Simeon’s cell, and Simeon realized instantly who it was. “Come to gloat a little, have you?”
Marcus Didius squatted down so his face was at the same level as Simeon’s. “Your good fortune is holding, Simeon, son of David.”
Simeon just shook his head. “Thank you for coming to tell me that, Tribune. Otherwise I might not have noticed.”
“Pilate went to Jerusalem yesterday. He won’t return until the day after tomorrow.”
“And I had hoped for regular visits,” Simeon said dryly.
Marcus just shook his head. “Listen to me, Simeon. Your flippancy, even if admirable, will only win you more pain down here.”
Simeon didn’t respond.
“Aren’t you going to ask me why this is a fortunate turn of events?”
“All right. Why is it a fortunate turn of events?”
“Because your little outing at the Joknean Pass has put Pilate in a mood like I’ve never seen him before. He won’t let us start questioning you until he returns.”
Simeon fought hard to keep his eyes expressionless, but he was sure the Roman must have seen the relief that leaped into them for a moment.
Marcus was still a little awed by the hatred he had seen in the governor’s eyes. “He says he wants to be here to watch you totally broken.”
“I’m disappointed to hear that,” Simeon said sarcastically. “When your primary entertainment is watching gladiators tear each other apart, I just assumed watching a man tortured might seem a little dull.”
Marcus ignored that. “That means you’ve got two days, maybe three to think this over. I appreciate your courage, and I know you really do think you can hold out against us, but please believe me. You will not.”
“Believe you? A man of your integrity? How could I ever doubt your word, Marcus?”
Marcus blew out his breath. “Look, you can sit there and be insulting, or you can listen to what I’m offering you. I can’t promise anything for sure, but if you would tell us who betrayed us, then I think I could persuade Pilate to let you go.”
“And what about Yehuda and my other two men?”
“Pilate knows that your men were just foot soldiers in all this. Yes, he might even agree to let them go too.”
“And do I have your word on that as a Roman officer and gentleman?” Simeon asked softly.
Marcus flushed and straightened abruptly. “You think about it. I know you don’t want to betray a trust, but isn’t it better to lose one and save four, including yourself?”
“One? And what if it is more than one person who betrayed you?”
“I don’t care. Give us one name. Give us the person most responsible, and Pilate will be satisfied. He doesn’t have to know about anyone else.” Marcus stepped back. “Think about it, Simeon ben David. I am not fool enough to think I can frighten you with tales of what a man skilled with a hot iron can do, but make no mistake. You will give us the name. You may not even be aware of what you are doing by then, but you will break. And if that is the case, all of this is for nothing. Save yourself and your friends.”
Simeon rolled onto one side, the chains clanking softly, turning his face to the wall of his cell.
For a long moment Marcus stared at the rigid back. Then, disgusted, he whirled and went back up the stairs without a word. Simeon didn’t turn his head. He reached over to his left wrist and gently began to rub beneath the manacle where the skin was raw. So he had at most three more days before the contest of wills began. It almost saddened him to learn that. That meant three more days of living with his thoughts. Three more days of unanswerable questions.
He wasn’t praying anymore. It wasn’t that he had turned his back on God. It was that he feared that it was an insult to Deity to ask for deliverance when it was his stubborn determination to do things his own way that had brought him into captivity in the first place.
He changed hands, working on his right wrist. Then he sat up and began the same therapy around his ankles, forcing himself to concentrate on what he was doing to stop the thoughts from coming.
As he finished and lay down again, trying to find some position of comfort on the cold floor without pulling on the chains, he suddenly stopped. In his mind, as clearly as if someone had spoken them aloud, he heard these words. Greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.
Simeon sat up again, very slowly. The words of Jesus hung there in his mind. To his surprise, his eyes were suddenly burning. He lifted his hands and stared at the manacles and the heavy chains that were attached to his leg irons. He felt the hot, wetness start down his cheeks. He didn’t care. He dropped his head and closed his eyes. Stupid or not, he had not been forgotten. He was not alone.
“Thank you, Father,” he whispered. “Thank you for loving such a fool as I.”
And then, with equal clarity, came the next: Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
IV
Marcus moved across the main entry hall of the great Praetorium, his sandals slapping sharply on the marble floor. “Miriam! How good to see you again. Did you have a safe journey down from the Galilee?”
She managed a tired smile. “Good evening, Marcus. Yes, we did. Thank you.”
“You’re early. We didn’t expect you until tomorrow night.”
“We decided to push on and come all the way in today.” She half turned, motioning for the others to come forward. “Marcus, this is my cousin Ezra, and his wife, Lilly. And I believe you have met Livia before.”
“Yes, up on the Temple Mount some months ago.” Marcus bowed slightly to her, then to Ezra and Lilly. “Welcome to the governor’s palace. Unfortunately, the governor is not present to greet you, but I’ve sent word to have the guest rooms prepared immediately. In the meantime, though the dinner hour is passed, I will have some food prepared and—”
The four of them looked at each other quickly; then Miriam spoke. “Supper will not be necessary, Marcus. We have had our needs well satisfied on the road today.” Before he could question her further, she went on. “Is my father here yet?”
“No. Actually, Pilate is in Jerusalem on official business. He will bring your father with him when he returns in a day or two.” A shadow briefly darkened his eyes. “I don’t wish to worry you, Miriam, but an attempt was made a few nights ago to enter your home and—”
“What! Is Father all right?”
“Yes, yes. He has been very cautious. He has several bodyguards. The intruders were caught before they made it past the outer courtyard.”
“Ya’abin’s doing?” she asked, still shaken.
“Most certainly,” Marcus said grimly. “That’s why the governor went to Jerusalem. He’s taken a large contingent of soldiers from here. He wants to put some fire into the garrison commander and double the patrols out in the wilderness.”
He glanced quickly at Ezra and the others. “This is why I am most pleased that you have returned. That is one less thing we have to be concerned about.” Then to Ezra: “Thank you for caring for Miriam so well. Mordechai said that he had the utmost confidence in your ability to keep her safe. Did you have any trouble?”
Ezra could have answered in a dozen ways, but he didn’t hesitate at all. “None. Our presence in the Galilee was not noticed by anyone that caused us concern.”
“Good.” Back to Miriam: “Pilate told me that if you didn’t arrive by tonight, I was to go out looking for you. That’s why he left me here instead of taking me wit
h him. The ship taking you and the delegation to Rome—one of the large grain ships—is already in the harbor loading wheat. We are scheduled to sail four or five days hence, so we were getting a little concerned about you.” He gave Miriam a warm smile. “Only when we’ve set sail can we truly let down our guard.”
“Marcus?” Miriam looked at the others, not unconscious of the instant concern her one word had triggered. “I have a matter of great urgency. May I speak with you?”
Surprised, he nodded instantly. “Of course. But you have just arrived. Would you like to go to your room and rest for a short time first?”
“No, if it is convenient, I should like to speak with you now.”
“Of course.” He clapped his hands one time and immediately three servants came through the arched portico. Marcus gestured. “Show these guests to their rooms. See that baths are drawn. They have come a long way, and a hot bath will do much to revive them.”
“Thank you, Tribune Didius,” Lilly said. Then to Miriam: “We’ll see you in the morning.” She moved forward and went up to kiss her cousin on the cheek. “Be careful, Miriam,” she whispered into her ear. “Be very careful.”
“Thank you,” Miriam said brightly as Lilly stepped back. She watched until they were led away, then turned to Marcus.
“You look tired too, Miriam. I’m sure the strain of travel this last while has taken its toll. Are you sure this matter can’t wait until you are refreshed a little?”
“No, Marcus. I must—” She moved away from him, biting at her lip. “As we passed through Capernaum day before yesterday, we heard news of the capture of one of their citizens.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed almost instantly. “Oh?” he said cautiously.
“Yes. Simeon ben David. I don’t know if you know him. His father is David ben Joseph, a prominent merchant in Capernaum. Simeon is a leader of—”
“I know who he is,” Marcus said shortly.
“Is it true?”
“Miriam, I—” Then his eyes became even more focused on her. “And why would that be of interest to you? Do you know this man?”
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