They stood there for several minutes, Simeon and his men, watching them go. When the last of the horses had passed and the rear guard was disappearing in the distance, Yehuda turned to his friend. “Well, you did it.”
“No,” Simeon answered. “We did it.” Suddenly, Simeon felt a great weariness come over him. He turned to look at the men around them.
Yehuda read his thoughts. “There are still twenty-one of us,” he said softly.
“Yes,” Simeon said, his eyes lingering on Samuel for a moment, thinking about him and Shana possibly being betrothed. “No tears in Beth Neelah this time,” he said.
Yehuda was sardonic. “Except for those few moments when the ropes weren’t there, the whole thing was almost boring.”
Simeon chuckled softly. “Thank you. I know you didn’t mean it that way, but I shall take that as a compliment.”
II
Jerusalem 20 June, a.d. 31
“So you let him go.”
Marcus nodded, a faint smile on his lips.
Mordechai exploded with disgust. “You had him in your grasp, and you let him escape.”
“No,” Marcus corrected him, “we helped him escape.”
Mordechai stared at him balefully, shaking his head. “In the name of all reason, what possessed you?”
“I think it’s called honor.”
The Sadducee muttered something in Aramaic that Marcus didn’t understand, but he suspected it was profane. “You didn’t have to do anything,” Mordechai exclaimed. “Ya’abin would have done it all for you. All you had to do was stand back.”
“That’s exactly right,” Marcus admitted. “Ya’abin would have killed them all for us.”
Mordechai’s eyes narrowed as he realized that Marcus had shared the details of that day for a reason. He wanted Mordechai to know exactly what had happened. “Why have you told me all this? Why not just tell me that you couldn’t make it work?”
“You know the answer to that without asking.”
“You think I care about some childish sense of honor? I’m trying to save our country here. The Zealots are the single greatest threat to peace that we have.”
“Do you feel nothing? Not even the tiniest hint of gratitude?”
“For what?”
“Simeon has done you a great service. Twice, in fact. Once in Samaria he drove Ya’abin off. Now, Ya’abin can no longer threaten you or your family.”
“I owe him nothing. He has turned my daughter against me.”
Marcus didn’t want to get into that. “Our agreement has been fulfilled. We kept our word. Now, if he so much as twitches his nose, Simeon will be back in that cell awaiting a cross.”
Mordechai only grunted, and Marcus could tell he was still angry that the Romans had not done his work for him. Marcus stood. “I’d better go. We leave at first light to take our prisoners to Caesarea.”
Mordechai didn’t stir. Marcus watched him for a moment, wondering what was going on behind those shrewd but hooded eyes. Then he decided to see if he couldn’t pull the curtain back a little and see for himself. “When Miriam learns that Ya’abin is captured, she’s going to want to come home.”
“Miriam isn’t going to learn anything unless I tell her,” Mordechai muttered. There was utter finality in his voice. “She is going to stay in Rome until you and I return for the wedding.”
“Are you telling me that I shouldn’t write and tell her that it is all over?”
“I’m telling you that she won’t learn anything unless I tell her.”
What is that supposed to mean? Word of Ya’abin’s capture was already on the streets of Jerusalem. Simeon and his family would surely write and tell Miriam that it was safe to come now. Marcus moved back to his chair and sat down. “I’ve been thinking,” he said carefully, his eyes never leaving Mordechai’s face. “Maybe it’s best if Miriam does come back. If she were here, then I would have a chance to spend some time with her and—” He took a quick breath at Mordechai’s look. “I’m not going to marry her against her will,” he said.
“She is staying in Rome until we get there,” Mordechai said tightly. “And she will marry whomever I say that she will marry.”
“Is this your daughter we’re talking about?” Marcus asked incredulously. “Docile, submissive, compliant Miriam?”
Mordechai lashed out at him. “If you lose her, it will be because you didn’t have the—” He caught himself. “Because you didn’t eliminate Simeon when you had the chance.”
For a long moment, Marcus didn’t answer. He sat back, forcing himself to look faintly amused, fighting back his own anger. “That’s an interesting perspective. It was your daughter who came up with the plan to free Simeon to begin with, remember? Now you’re angry because the plan actually worked.”
Mordechai’s face darkened, but Marcus went on quickly, his tone still musing. “So think this through with me. Simeon delivers Ya’abin into our hands, as was our agreement—an agreement to which you were a party. Then, at your behest, I go back on my word and betray Simeon, let Ya’abin kill him. When word of all this reaches Miriam—as it surely will, those things always get out—she is so grateful to both of us that she falls into my arms and agrees to be my wife. Is that the way you see it unfolding?”
“What I am suggesting—”
“Or,” Marcus cut in, his voice suddenly cold, “are you saying that if I lose her, it will be because I’m not willing to be the lackey of Mordechai ben Uzziel, because I won’t let him goad me into breaking my word of honor?”
Mordechai realized his mistake and tried to back away. “No, what I am saying is that Miriam is confused right now. She’s not sure of her own mind, let alone her own heart. Bringing her back here will only confuse her more.”
“If I wanted a slave for a wife, I could have my pick of women, Mordechai.”
For a long moment, the two men glared at each other, wills locked. Then Mordechai spoke. Any caution was now thrown to the wind. “It is true that I cannot force her to love you, but if you want her as your willing wife, Tribune, you’re going to have to do more than simply show your handsome face and exercise your considerable charms.”
Marcus stood slowly. “I know you are one of Jerusalem’s most powerful men,” he said softly, “but if you think you can use Rome—or any of its officers—as though we were your personal servants, I would advise you to carefully reconsider who and what you are.”
He watched the blood drain from the older man’s face; then, still seething, he turned and started for the door.
As he reached it, Mordechai called out to him. “Is Rome really your first concern?”
Marcus stopped and turned back. “Would you dare suggest otherwise?”
Mordechai’s gaze was as cold as his own. “Then you had better give some careful thought to solving two problems. One is Simeon ben David. The other is Jesus of Nazareth. Do that, and you’ll not only win Pilate’s praise, but you will solve your problem with Miriam as well.”
III
Capernaum 25 June, a.d. 31
Simeon sat on a long, high-backed wooden bench covered with blankets for padding. His mother was on one side of him, her arm slipped through his, sitting right up against him. Leah was on the other. Eleven-year-old Joseph sat at his feet, eyes wide, listening to every word as if it came from Moses himself. David sat on a chair across from them. Ephraim and Rachel were behind him, content to stand for now.
Simeon had not arrived back in Capernaum until after dark. By then Esther and Boaz were in bed, so Rachel had called one of the neighbors to come in and stay with them. Simeon would go see the children first thing in the morning.
He finished speaking, then leaned back, relieved to have the telling of it over. “So that was it. Ya’abin was so enraged after all of our harassment, he rode into that canyon without considering it might be a trap.” He looked at his father. “We didn’t lose a man, and neither did the Romans.”
Pride shone brightly in David’s eyes. “You did wh
at you said you would do, Simeon. That’s wonderful.”
“Didn’t you shoot anyone?” Joseph asked.
“Not a single one,” Simeon replied, smiling at the boyish disappointment. “Actually, it wasn’t very exciting.”
“I’m glad,” Leah said.
“Well, there won’t be any more funerals in Beth Neelah,” Ephraim noted.
“That’s exactly what I told Yehuda. And that means a lot. Oh, by the way,” he said, speaking to his mother again. “Yehuda thinks that Shana and Samuel may be betrothed in the fall.”
“Really?” Deborah said, genuinely pleased.
“Wonderful!” Leah cried. “Oh, that is good news, Simeon. If I remember rightly which one Samuel is, he will be good for Shana.”
“Samuel is one of the best. He’ll make a good husband.”
David nodded, but his face was grave. Seeing that, Simeon gave him a questioning look.
“There is some news that is not so good,” his father said.
“What?”
“As you know, Ezra and Lilly are here in Capernaum.”
“Yes, so?”
“If you’re not too tired, I think it would be well if we went and talked with them.”
IV
Ezra and Lilly lived in a small house about two streets over from David ben Joseph’s main warehouse. The house was owned by David, as was the small shop behind it, which had been converted into a sandalmaker’s shop. The furnishings were sparse, but comfortable. It was the first time Simeon had been there.
Watching Simeon look around, Ezra spoke up. “Mordechai got everything when we left Joppa, including our furniture.”
“He is not a man who takes opposition lightly,” Simeon observed.
“He’s a powerful man,” Lilly agreed. To Simeon’s surprise, there was no bitterness in her tone. “Only a few of our closest friends and associates even dared help us. We decided that if we had to start over again, we would do it where we could be close to Jesus and to people we trusted.” Her eyes became a little misty. “We didn’t expect to have someone finance a new sandal shop for us.”
“I’m delighted to help,” David said, a little embarrassed. “Capernaum has needed a good sandalmaker for years. I’ve said that before, haven’t I, Deborah?”
Deborah smiled. “He has. This worked out wonderfully.”
“It certainly did for us,” Ezra said. “What we thought was going to be a disaster is turning out to be a great blessing.”
Simeon had waited patiently through the peripheral information. Now he jumped in with a direct question. “Father said there was bad news. Have you heard from Miriam?”
Both his parents and Ezra and Lilly shook their heads. “That’s just it. We haven’t heard. Not for months now,” Lilly said. “In fact, when I wrote her about the baby I expected her to write back right away.”
“The baby?” Simeon said, totally surprised.
Lilly blushed deeply and looked away.
“Yes,” Ezra said, beaming. “Remember what Jesus said to her at the baptism, about her being like Sarah and Hannah? Well, it’s happened. Lilly is with child.”
“That is wonderful news,” Simeon said. Then he sobered. “There’s something you don’t know. The tribune, Marcus Didius, claims that he and Miriam are to be married at the end of the year.”
The shock hit them all hard. “No!” Deborah cried.
“I don’t believe it,” Leah exclaimed.
Lilly paled. “She would never—” she started, then stopped, unable to put it into words.
Suddenly Ezra was nodding. “So that is it.”
“What?”
“We have a friend in Jerusalem. He wrote to tell us that Mordechai is back. He’s telling people that there is a chance that Miriam may never return from Rome.”
For a moment, Simeon was startled, then his face hardened. “Would that be such a great surprise?” he asked. “In that first letter she sent to Mother, Miriam talked as though she found Rome very pleasant and exciting.”
Lilly was shocked by his suggestion. “Rome, yes, but marry a Roman tribune? Surely you can’t believe that, Simeon.”
Simeon turned to Deborah. “What did the letter say, Mother? Didn’t Miriam talk in glowing terms about the family of Marcus Didius, about how wealthy and influential they are? And didn’t she tell you what a wonderful host Marcus himself had been for her there? Weren’t those her words?”
Deborah looked at her son for a long moment. She too was taken aback by the sudden harshness in his voice. “Simeon, I don’t think she was—”
“Weren’t those her exact words, Mother?”
“Yes, but—”
Again he cut in. “You tell me, Ezra. You know Mordechai as well as any of us. Do you think he would find an alliance between his family and that of one of the most influential families in Rome unacceptable?”
Ezra hesitated, but the answer was clear. “Mordechai is driven by one primary motive,” he said softly, “and that is to maintain peace with Rome so that he and the Great Council can stay in power. I’m afraid he would find such a marriage of great importance to his overall goals.”
Simeon shot his mother a triumphant look. “I’m not saying Miriam sought for this, but if Mordechai is pulling the strings, maybe she’s agreed to accept his will.”
“If you believe that, Simeon,” Leah said, horrified by what she was hearing, “then you don’t know Miriam like I do.”
“Then why didn’t she come home with Mordechai? Surely she must have heard that we had captured Ya’abin. Why did she stay in Rome?”
“I know what Mordechai is planning,” Lilly came in, “but Miriam would never agree to marry this Marcus. Not ever.”
Simeon was feeling a little badgered now, knowing he was the only one who felt Miriam might marry Marcus. And yet he couldn’t let it go. “Then why would Marcus tell me that he and Miriam were betrothed? At first I thought he was just trying to goad me, to get me angry. But for all his faults, I don’t think he would lie about something like that. And he didn’t say that he merely wanted to marry her. He said that they were betrothed! They are to be married when he returns for Saturnalia in December.”
David started to speak, but Simeon rode right over him. “It’s been months now. Why hasn’t Miriam written? Maybe she knows that we won’t approve of all this. If she’s decided to stay in Rome, it might just be easier not to communicate with us anymore.”
“Something is wrong,” David said. “I agree with Lilly. I won’t believe this of Miriam until I hear it from her directly. And even if she did agree to the marriage, she would still write to us.”
Deborah was watching her son sadly. More than any of the rest of them, she could see what was in his heart and understood his sharp disappointment. “We need to write Miriam first thing in the morning. We’ll find someone to take the letter to Rome as quickly as possible. We need to hear about her plans from her, not from Marcus or Mordechai.”
“It will take almost two months to get a letter there and an answer back,” Lilly said.
Simeon nodded. “All the more reason to write immediately. Let’s find out what is going on here.”
Chapter 27
O you who have borne even heavier things, God will grant an end to these too.
—Virgil, Aeneid, i.199
I
Rome 9 July, a.d. 31
It was not a knock. It was far more even than a sharp rapping sound. Miriam jumped in surprise as someone pounded on the door with what could only have been a closed fist. She looked at Livia, then got up quickly and moved across the room.
When she opened the door, she fell back, her mouth dropping open. Behind her, Miriam heard Livia gasp. Livia’s brother, Drusus, stood before them, his wrists bound, a grim-faced Roman soldier on each side of him.
“Drusus?” Even as Miriam cried out his name, Livia was to her side. She started to push past Miriam, but both soldiers jerked their spears downward, crossing them in front of the boy and blocking
her way.
Drusus had his head up, trying to look defiant, but Miriam saw that his face was as pale as a slab of marble and his eyes were deeply frightened. As all of this registered in her mind, another man stepped around from behind Drusus and his captors. He was the chief of Miriam’s daily “escorts.” He carried a paper in each hand. Miriam felt suddenly sick as she recognized one of them. It was the letter she had written just the night before to David and Deborah in Capernaum.
The man, who was probably in his late forties and who had a kind face, had always been friendly enough to her, almost amiable, but he had also never wavered one iota in his duty. He tried not to be too intrusive whenever she or Livia or Drusus went out, but “escort” was an apt description. He or one of his associates was always within eyesight. She had once tried to learn his name, but he had just smiled and shook his head. This was not to become personal.
Now his face was grave, his eyes tinged with regret, but they were also filled with quiet determination. “Miriam, daughter of Mordechai ben Uzziel.”
“Yes?” She was half-holding her breath.
He motioned with his head to the soldier nearest him. The man took out his dagger and sliced through the ropes that held Drusus. Then both soldiers turned and without a word started for the stairs, their duty finished. Drusus stumbled forward into Livia’s arms.
The escort waved the letter at her. “This lad was caught trying to arrange for delivery of a letter to the province of Judea.” With a deliberate flourish, the man tore the paper in half, repeated the action, then let it flutter to the floor. “As I have warned you before, this is in violation of the conditions under which you stay here in Rome.”
“Conditions imposed by my father, not by Roman law,” she answered, her voice much calmer than what she was feeling inside.
He ignored her. “It is clear that the letter was written by you and that the boy was only doing your bidding. If that were not so, he would be on his way to the slave markets as we speak.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Miriam saw Livia’s hand fly to her mouth.
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