Simeon laughed softly. “You think Ya’abin’s temper is burning a little right now.”
“I would guess he is smoking around the ears. He hasn’t made a raid on anyone or anything now for almost two weeks. He wants one thing and one thing only, and that is to catch you and take the skin off your back one inch at a time. It’s clear that he is so enraged he’s not thinking clearly anymore.”
“Good. That’s exactly where we need him to be.”
“I’ve decided that we need to change your name,” Yehuda mused.
“Really? To what?”
“Instead of Ha’keedohn—the Javelin—I think we ought to call you Malmahd—the Ox Goad.”
Simeon chuckled at the play on the imagery. Ha’keedohn, or the javelin, was a long shaft with an iron tip used in warfare. The malmahd was almost of equal length and also had an iron tip, though it was not barbed. Farmers and cart drivers used the ox goad to drive and control stubborn oxen. A few sharp jabs with the goad and even the most difficult animal could be made to obey. It was an appropriate metaphor for what they had been doing with Ya’abin these past few months.
“So what about you when we are finished?” Yehuda asked after a time. “Home again?”
Simeon looked surprised. “Of course. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Oh, yes. For a time at least.”
At the sharp look in Simeon’s eyes, he laughed aloud. “You won’t want to hear this, but did you ever consider that in your determined attempts to avoid shedding blood, you have taught your little band some new and very clever ways to fight? This strategy would drive the Romans as completely mad as it has Ya’abin.”
Simeon just sighed. “You are incorrigible.”
Now any humor in Yehuda’s eyes died. “You may have forgotten what happened the last time the Romans marched into the Galilee. Your mother’s family lost as much as mine. My father, my mother, and younger brother. There are still many debts to pay.”
For a moment Simeon was tempted to respond, but he knew that there was no point in it. He wasn’t going to change Yehuda on this matter.
“Mooli talked to me about Shana at Passover,” Yehuda suddenly said.
Simeon looked up. “He did? About the betrothal?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
Yehuda was thoughtful. “I spoke to Shana. She would like a little more time. She thought it ought to be a least one full year since your betrothal was annulled before she does anything.”
“But that will be—” he thought for a moment. “In a week or two.”
“Yes.”
“Shana is young and full of life, Yehuda. What she and I had together is past.”
“She knows that now. I expect we shall begin the arrangements as soon as Mooli and I return.”
“Samuel is a good man.” Simeon realized that he had used those exact words before, but he didn’t know what else to say.
To his surprise, Yehuda got up and came over to him. He laid a hand on Simeon’s shoulder. “So are you, Simeon, son of David.”
Touched, Simeon could only nod.
“It’s too bad our paths have to diverge. We could raise some real havoc among those red-plumed helmets now.”
Simeon looked up at his old friend. “Not for me.” He hesitated. “You know, it’s not too late for you to come down the path that I have chosen.”
“It was too late for that once you went to Nazareth and talked with Jesus’ mother.”
Chapter 25
Even if strength fails, boldness at least will deserve praise; in great endeavors even to have had the will is enough.
—Propertius, Elegies, II.i.43
I
Jerusalem 13 June, a.d. 31
Tribune Marcus Quadratus Didius stepped to the heavy wooden door, searched the dark street in both directions one more time, then knocked softly. He was gratified to instantly hear the scrape of the heavy bar on the opposite side. In a moment, the door swung open and he stepped into the spacious courtyard of Mordechai ben Uzziel’s palatial mansion in the Upper City of Jerusalem.
He pulled back the hood that covered his face, then removed the light cloak he wore to cover his uniform. Levi, Mordechai’s steward and chief servant, took the cloak, pointed him toward the far end of the garden, then backed away without a word.
Marcus moved forward. There were no lamps lit, and the half-moon had not yet fully penetrated the courtyard, but he knew it well. He had been here several times since first coming to Jerusalem more than a year ago. A dark shadow moved near the fountain. “I’m over here.”
In a moment, Marcus reached him. They shook hands firmly. “Your message came as a most pleasant surprise, Mordechai,” Marcus said. “You made excellent time getting here from Rome.”
“Your letter suggested the situation was of some urgency. I fully concurred in that assessment. I came as quickly as possible. The ship on which I took passage docked at Ptolemais. Under the circumstances, I came directly to Jerusalem. Would you convey my apologies to the governor for not stopping at Caesarea?”
“I will. And what of Miriam?”
Mordechai motioned to a spot near the fountain where two small stone benches had been placed facing each other. They sat down before he answered. “I concurred with your recommendation that it was best that Miriam stay in Rome for now.”
Something in the way he said it made Marcus peer more closely at him, but in the soft moonlight it was difficult to read his expression, and he decided not to press him. “And what of the betrothal? Did you speak of that with her?”
“I did.” There was a fleeting frown. “I would be less than honest if I told you that she welcomed that news. It caught her quite by surprise. It may take some time for her to become accustomed to the idea.”
Marcus fought back his irritation. He had worried that Mordechai might handle the breaking of the news to Miriam with less than the finesse that was needed. Now those fears were only increased. But he finally smiled and nodded his head. “Excellent,” Marcus said. “When I return from the wilderness, I shall present a proposal for the dowry and other arrangements.”
Mordechai waved that away. “There will be time enough for that later. Tell me what is happening.”
So Marcus did. He explained in some detail Simeon’s strategy and his successes with the cunning Ya’abin. His report was not given without some admiration. Even Marcus had conceded that it had been a brilliant gambit. “Sextus and I leave in the morning with a full cohort, about six hundred men. It will take some time to get into position—we’re heading due south out of Jerusalem and traveling nearly to Hebron before we turn into the wilderness; there, no one will be watching. Hopefully in a week we will return with the news you are looking for. The last threat to you will be eliminated. “
“What threat?”
The question surprised Marcus. “Moshe Ya’abin, of course.”
“And what of Simeon the Javelin and the threat he poses?”
Marcus gave him a sharp look. “What of him? Pilate’s agreement was that if he delivered Ya’abin to us within one year, he would go free. The year is not up for another month.”
“And you concur with that?”
“It’s not my decision. The agreement is set.”
“And you concur with that?” Mordechai asked again.
Marcus, his irritation growing, started to respond, but the older man held up his hand. “Let me suggest something,” he said. “I shall speak first in the interest of Rome. Then I shall speak in the interest of Marcus Didius.”
Marcus sat back. This would partially explain the urgency of the message that had come to the Antonia Fortress. Mordechai had been insistent that Marcus come to his home this very night. “Say on,” Marcus said with a wave of his hand.
“Simeon’s band of Zealots are not anywhere near the largest rebel group in the Galilee. Gehazi of Sepphoris has triple the number of men. Amasa of Gamla at least ten times that number.”
“So?”
&nbs
p; “Simeon’s group is one of the most effective. They are fast, cunning, highly skilled. Even their rival bands admit that none can equal them with the bow. What you have described just now proves my point. Your forces stumbled around for months out there just trying to find Ya’abin. Simeon has run him to ground. I’m not sure any other group could have done it.”
“And your point?”
“Are you really sure you want to send them back to the Galilee?”
Marcus was too shrewd not to have already seen where Mordechai was going with this, but he decided to probe a little. “Sextus says that Simeon is through with the Zealots once this is over. He is a follower of Jesus now and wants no part of warfare anymore.”
Mordechai laughed scornfully. “And you believe that?”
Marcus said nothing.
“Think about it,” Mordechai said. “Instead of catching one vulture in the snare, you could take a second with little more effort. Ya’abin and Simeon. You and I have talked before about how to solve the problem of the Zealots in the Galilee. This would be an important start. Do you think Pilate would criticize you for that?”
He didn’t wait for an answer. “But let me speak of the second aspect for a moment as well. There are some things I learned about Miriam before I left Rome.”
“Oh?”
“Do you remember what Miriam did the two weeks before we sailed for Rome last summer?”
He thought for a moment. “Went with your cousin looking for leather goods in Gaulanitis.”
“That’s what I thought too.” He was speaking carefully now. For all the anger that smoldered within him over Miriam’s rebellion, he was not ready to let Marcus—and therefore Pilate—know that she was the one who had caused the Joknean Pass disaster. “But she was doing far more than that. They used that time to listen to Jesus of Nazareth.”
One eyebrow lifted. “Oh?” Marcus said.
“Yes. I am sorry to say that Miriam decided to become one of his followers. She is quite adamant about it. She and I had a terrible battle over the whole thing.”
Marcus thought he understood. “It matters not to me what she believes, or who she follows. I told you before. I don’t put much stock in the gods, no matter whose they are.”
“Let me put this bluntly, Marcus,” Mordechai said, clearly irritated by that response. “Miriam says that she will not marry you.”
“What?”
He held up his hands to soften the blow a little. “This Jesus is a major block between you. Another factor is the thought of leaving her native land. She loves her country. I think it will be important for you to bring her to Caesarea for a time.”
“I told you already I was willing to do that.” Marcus was annoyed. To all appearances, it looked like Mordechai had really aggravated the situation with Miriam.
“There’s something else.”
“What?” It had been a long day and it was now past midnight, and Marcus was feeling his temper shorten noticeably.
“It was Simeon’s family that fostered all of this. Miriam stayed with them during those two weeks. They’re the ones who introduced her to Jesus. They helped convince her he was a great prophet. They were there, encouraging her along.”
“I thought you said it was your cousin’s doing.”
“My wife’s cousin’s husband, actually,” Mordechai snapped. “And he has already been dealt with. But he just provided the transportation. It was Simeon and his family who converted Miriam.”
Marcus began to nod. He saw exactly what Mordechai was doing. He would have to be careful. Mordechai could prove to be a formidable enemy. “Are you suggesting that there might be something between Miriam and Simeon?” he asked slowly.
Both hands came up in innocent protest. “I don’t know that for sure. But I know she is determined to see him again. She’s even talking about living in Capernaum when she returns.” He gave Marcus a shrewd look. “I know that when she talks about Simeon, something happens in her eyes that I don’t like.”
Marcus said nothing. One part of him wanted to brush it aside. Something had happened between Mordechai and Miriam, and now Mordechai was trying to draw Marcus into it. On the other hand, down inside he feared that Mordechai had accurately perceived the situation. If that was so . . .
“I’m telling you, Marcus,” Mordechai said, watching him closely. “Miriam has changed. I don’t know how he’s doing it, but Jesus is turning people into religious fanatics. I’ve never seen Miriam like this. I couldn’t reason with her at all. That’s why you can’t just dismiss Simeon as no longer being a threat to Rome. All Jesus has to do is utter a single word, and his followers will rise up in arms and march against you. And Simeon will be at the forefront.”
Marcus leaned forward, staring at the ground, his mind working rapidly.
“But if we were to eliminate Jesus,” Mordechai went on smoothly, “take him completely out of the picture, as we need to do anyway, that would solve your problem as well as eliminate a huge potential headache for Rome. The Council will take the lead on this. Miriam doesn’t have to know you had a part in it. Once Jesus is gone—really gone—she will come to her senses.”
“But that is only one of my problems, according to you,” Marcus said. “Right?”
“You said you’ll have a cohort with you to take Ya’abin.”
“Yes.”
“And Simeon has only about twenty men?”
Marcus nodded again.
Mordechai held out his hands in feigned innocence. “That seems to suggest a solution to all of your problems, don’t you think?”
II
In the wilderness of Judea 17 June, a.d. 31
Eliab leaped off his horse, tossed the reins to the nearest man, and raced across the camp to where the men sat together in several groups. “We’ve got them!” he shouted as he reached Moshe Ya’abin.
The Fox of the Desert was on his feet in an instant. “Where?”
“They’re camped just inside the canyon where the springs of Ein Gedi come out of the hills, maybe a half a mile from the shore of the Dead Sea.”
“How many?”
“Twenty or twenty-one.”
Ya’abin’s ferret features were ecstatic. “So that’s all of them.”
Eliab was grinning. “Every one, Moshe. And they’re exhausted. They came all the way from Jericho yesterday and didn’t make camp until nearly midnight. Their mounts were moving pretty slowly.”
“All right,” Ya’abin shouted to his men, all of whom were on their feet now. “Mount up.” He turned to Eliab. “Who’s watching them?”
“Joktan. On the north ridge above their camp.” His triumphant grin got even broader. “On his belly in some brush, last I saw him.”
There was a curt nod. “You take a dozen men. Come in from above the springs. They’ll see you before you can get close, which is what I want. I don’t want them trying to escape up the canyon. We’ll swing around and come in from the north. We’ll drive him south, deeper into the wilderness.” He grinned savagely. “Deeper into our country. We’ll keep them running all day until they’re ready to drop. Then we’ll close in.”
He jerked his head at Shaul, his third-in-command. “You stay back. Right now, Simeon’s thinking that we outnumber him only about two to one. He may decide to stand and fight when he sees he can’t outrun us.” He clenched a fist and smacked it into his palm. “Let’s save our little surprise until then.”
“Yes.” Shaul turned and ran back to a group of men who remained apart from the others. This was Ya’abin’s “little surprise.” Thirty-one additional men waited here. It had taken Shaul and two others a full week and most of what was left of his captain’s gold, but they had come back from across the Jordan with enough men to raise their total to a few more than eighty. Now the odds would be more like four to one. And the Javelin knew none of that.
“Let’s ride,” Ya’abin said. “It’s time to even the score.”
III
The wilderness, southwest of Ei
n Gedi 18 June, a.d. 31
Ya’abin reined up, squinting heavily in the blistering sunshine. About two miles ahead of them, a cluster of black dots were visible against the light brown of the hillsides that rose steadily from the western shores of the Dead Sea. He grunted in satisfaction. “He’s turning inland. Looking for water, I’m sure.” He swung around. “Joktan?”
A little brown man with twisted teeth and a pockmarked face trotted over. “You sure they weren’t carrying water bags for their horses?”
The dark head, wrapped with a white cloth, bobbed sharply. “I’m sure. When they saw us up on the ridges, they scattered like chicks before the eagle. If they had bags for the horses, they didn’t take time to fill them.”
Ya’abin nodded, turning to Eliab. “Let’s close it up a little. Let them feel the pressure.”
“Yes, Moshe.” Ya’abin had twenty-five additional horses, another of Shaul’s purchases across the Jordan. They were trading off mounts on a regular basis, giving them some respite from the punishing pace they were keeping. Eliab knew that with the fresher mounts they could push hard and catch the Javelin at any time, but he agreed with Ya’abin. Push the enemy all day, then close in just before sundown when they were too exhausted to give much fight. Eliab felt a great sense of satisfaction. This was a day they had all been waiting for. Revenge would be sweet indeed.
IV
By the ninth hour of the day, with the sun about halfway down from its zenith, the temperature was deadly. It was like riding into the mouth of a furnace. The hot air was starting to rise again, blowing at their backs now, sucking the moisture from the body like a wick in an oil lamp.
Ya’abin reined up and waved at Eliab. As his captain came up to join him, he pointed to the mouth of the canyon about a half mile ahead of them. It was wide and beckoning, seeming to offer an easy route to the highlands further west. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked, his mouth drawn back into a wolfish smile.
“It is,” Eliab crowed. “It’s a blind canyon.”
Ya’abin licked his lips, feeling the cracked dryness. “If I’m remembering right, once they get all the way in the walls are much too steep for horses. Even a man can’t climb up without help.”
Fishers of Men Page 109
