Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Is that your commander?” she asked, suddenly suspicious.

  The young man didn’t turn to look again. “No, m’lady.” He motioned for her to start moving before she could say anything more. “Please. We’ll follow you.”

  III

  Jerusalem, at the Gate Beautiful on the Temple Mount

  Livia was sitting on the steps that led up to the Gate Beautiful, one hand up to shade her face from the brightness of the sun. She had thought about going inside the court but decided that Miriam would be looking for her out here. So she idly watched the passing people and thought about what she still needed to do in order to be ready for their departure tomorrow.

  A movement caught her eye. Over the heads of the crowds, she saw a red plumed helmet moving horizontally across her line of vision. It was followed by a dozen or more plain helmets. They were outside the Wall of Partition, of course, and so ten or fifteen paces from where she sat. She watched curiously as the crowd began to part, muttering at the sight of the passing legionnaires. Then Livia started. The people were moving back, and she could see the column and then its leader more clearly.

  At that same moment, the tribune’s head turned, and he saw her. One hand flew up. “Halt!” he barked to his men.

  As the men came to a stop, Livia saw that there were sixteen of them—four quaternions, as the Romans called them. “Livia? Livia of Alexandria? Is that you?”

  She rose slowly to her feet. “Good morning, Tribune Didius,” she called.

  He smiled in pleased surprise, then motioned for her to come over to him. He was near the soreg and so could come no closer.

  She hesitated, not sure this was wise; but then she decided that perhaps they could exchange a brief greeting, and he would be gone again before Miriam arrived. Miriam definitely would not want to see Marcus Quadratus Didius. Not now. Not here. Forcing a smile, she ran lightly down the steps and closed the distance between them.

  IV

  Jerusalem, in the Court of the Gentiles on the Temple Mount

  Miriam was thoroughly perplexed. They had barely reached the arched doorway leading down to the southwest gate when the young sergeant abruptly changed his mind. “Thank you, m’lady” he said. “We can find it from here. Sorry to have been a bother.”

  Somewhat irked at the man’s behavior, she merely nodded and started back the way she had come. Halfway across the Court of the Gentiles, she stopped, surprised to hear the rhythmic crunch of sandals on pavement. Through the scattered people, she saw the eight men trotting in quick step along the western edge of the court. They were headed north in a path that would take them behind the temple and back to the Antonia Fortress. So they hadn’t gone to the gate after all. How strange.

  She shrugged it off and hurried on, knowing that Livia would be starting to wonder where she was.

  V

  Jerusalem, in the Court of the Gentiles on the Temple Mount, near the Gate Beautiful

  “So Miriam is married now, I hear.”

  Livia nodded cautiously. Marcus was smiling, and there didn’t seem to be any animosity in the question. “Yes, just two weeks ago, in Bethlehem.”

  “Ah, yes,” he chuckled. “This strange thing with Jewish betrothals and a year of waiting.”

  Livia said nothing.

  “And you as well, I’m told.”

  “Yes.”

  “And how is Yehuda? As bullheaded as ever?”

  “I don’t find him that way at all,” she said coolly.

  “I was married just a few months ago myself. To the daughter of Senator Servilius. Will you tell Miriam?”

  Livia couldn’t hide her surprise. “I will. Congratulations.”

  Marcus turned, his eyes searching across the great plaza. Then he turned back. “Well, how pleasant to see you. Give my regards to Miriam and Simeon. And Yehuda, of course.”

  “Of course.” She felt immense relief. There was something very odd about this whole encounter.

  Marcus half turned, then turned back. “Say,” he said, “am I not remembering correctly that you were once a slave? In Alexandria, if my mind serves me right.”

  Livia went very still. “Yes. Mordechai ben Uzziel purchased my freedom for me almost eight years ago when I became Miriam’s personal servant.”

  “I apologize,” he said, not in any way looking apologetic, “but we have been asked to be on the lookout for runaway slaves. Do you have your papers of manumission?”

  The color drained instantly from Livia’s face. “I—Well, no. I—” She was stammering like a frightened child. “It’s been eight years. And I am married to a citizen of this country now. I am not required to carry papers.”

  “Freed slaves are required to have their papers with them at all times,” Marcus said. Any warmth in his voice had disappeared.

  “That’s not true,” she cried. “You’ve never said anything before when I was in your presence.”

  “Guards, seize this woman. We shall hold her until her papers are produced.”

  “No!” Livia gasped, as two men leaped forward and grabbed her by the arms. “You know I was freed.”

  He clucked disapprovingly. “I would be derelict if I let personal acquaintance influence me from doing my duty.”

  Then, again to her surprise, he looked away, scanning the crowd. Several people had stopped and were watching curiously, but he wasn’t looking at them. It was as though he was expecting someone.

  “Please, Tribune Didius, I beg of you.”

  He didn’t so much as glance at her. Then there was a soft grunt of satisfaction. Livia turned to see what he was looking at. Her knees almost buckled. Miriam was pushing her way toward them, her head turning back and forth, searching.

  Miriam stopped dead at the sight that awaited her. “Marcus?” she exclaimed. Then her jaw went slack, and her eyes widened in horror as she saw Livia held fast between two soldiers.

  “Miriam,” Marcus said stiffly. “I wondered if you might not be here in Jerusalem.”

  “Livia?” She started forward, then stopped again, turning to Marcus. “What is going on?”

  “Your slave does not carry papers of manumission.”

  “What?”

  “He says they are going to arrest me for not having proof of my freedom on me,” Livia cried. “Tell him, Miriam. Tell him my freedom was purchased by your father. Tell him I am married.”

  “This is ridiculous.” She swung on the man she had once felt affection for. “What is the meaning of this? You know she has been legally freed.”

  “Do I?”

  “You know that my father—” She stopped. Once again there was the sound of sandals slapping on pavement. Then eight men appeared from around the corner of the temple. Miriam fell back a little. It was the same eight men who had left her a few minutes before. They had simply circled around the back of the temple and now came to join their comrades. They were puffing from their exertion.

  “Why are you doing this?” Miriam demanded, feeling hot anger shoot through her. “Freed slaves are not required to carry their papers with them. Not here in Judea.”

  “They are now,” he said icily. He waved toward the guards. “Take her back to the fortress. And watch yourselves.” He turned to join his men.

  “Marcus!” Miriam was pleading now. “She is with child. Have some mercy.”

  “The child of a slave is considered to be a slave as well,” he said shortly. “If she has papers, I suggest you present them to me before morning. Otherwise, we shall take her and any others we may find back to Caesarea.”

  “But her papers are in Beth Neelah.”

  “Then you had better send a fast rider,” he said mockingly. “You have about eighteen hours, and then she’ll be gone.”

  VI

  Jerusalem, Antonia Fortress

  The arrest took place somewhere around the third hour of the morning. By the sixth hour, or midday, the first of a very angry crowd had started to gather. Now in midafternoon, five or six hundred men were gathered
outside the south gate of the Antonia Fortress in the Court of the Gentiles, most of them Galileans. And they were working themselves into a fine fury. Farther back—much farther back—a larger crowd had gathered to watch. That had worried Marcus at first, but it was clear that was all they were—curious onlookers drawn by the smell of possible violence.

  “Well?” Marcus said.

  They were standing on the walls, half hidden behind one of the parapets, looking down on the mob. Sextus answered without delay. “You’ve already seen Simeon and Yehuda for yourself.”

  “Yes. And Simeon’s father too.”

  “That is his older brother with them,” Sextus said without expression. “Ephraim.”

  Marcus stifled the urge to shout aloud in triumph. He had fretted for so long over this, worried about what Pilate would do if he couldn’t find a way to carry out his orders. And it had turned out to be so easy. He had almost given in to the urge to tell Miriam to be sure to complain to Simeon about Livia’s arrest, but he hadn’t. He knew that wasn’t necessary. She must have gone straight to him, though, and Simeon surely went and found Yehuda out looking at grapevines. So easy!

  “What about the others?”

  “Most of the key Zealot leadership is here,” Sextus answered. “I’ve seen Gehazi of Sepphoris, Elihu of Gadara, Yohanan the Blind, Jesus Barabbas. The young one there to the left of Simeon is Samuel, Yehuda’s brother-in-law. He’s supposedly taken over Simeon’s old group, but he’s still pretty inexperienced.”

  Marcus felt a grudging admiration. This was Yehuda’s problem. He wasn’t even a Zealot any longer, yet his former comrades came without hesitation. Good thing the Jerusalemites didn’t stick together like that, or there could be real trouble. “I think we might change that today,” he said.

  “Even though they’re armed,” Sextus continued, “they’re here to negotiate. They would never try a frontal assault on the fortress. If we don’t give them Livia back, they’ll probably see if they can take her while we’re on the road somewhere.”

  Marcus merely grunted. Sextus was right, of course, except for one thing. Marcus had no plans to negotiate, and he certainly didn’t plan to let them ambush him on the road. Then he remembered his conversation with Mordechai. “And Jesus? Is he out there?”

  Sextus shook his head. “I’ve not seen him or any of his closest disciples. Perhaps it is true, as we heard, that they have already left for Perea.”

  Marcus shrugged. It was rare that one got every single thing he wished for. Well, the Sanhedrin could worry about that later. “We can’t wait any longer.”

  Marcus looked down into the central courtyard of the fortress. It stood empty in the afternoon sun, but in the shadows of the overhanging walkways he saw the glint of spears. One century was hidden just to the left of the gate. Another was just to the right. Along the back wall, two more centuries stood poised and ready. None of them could be seen by the Galileans because the outer gate was closed.

  He turned, still taking stock. Hidden in the barracks were nearly two additional cohorts. Along the catwalks, crouched down so they couldn’t be seen from below, two hundred bowmen with full quivers waited his signal to leap to their feet. All together he had over fifteen hundred men. These oafish peasants would never know what hit them.

  “All right then,” he said softly. “Have the men in readiness.” He spun around and headed for the ladder leading down to the courtyard.

  VII

  Jerusalem, in the Court of the Gentiles on the Temple Mount

  Simeon stood in front of the group of Zealots, facing the south gate of the towering fortress. A ring of legionnaires three men deep guarded the entrance, spears at the ready. There were forty or fifty of them. Their faces were hard, but Simeon thought he detected a trace of fear in their eyes.

  Suddenly there was a loud creaking sound, and one of the gates swung partially open. Through it Simeon saw that the courtyard of the Antonia was empty. He grunted to himself. No wonder the legionnaires were nervous. Marcus was probably scrambling to find reinforcements, only now realizing he had made a serious mistake.

  “Do you want me to try to talk with them?” Simeon asked. He looked at Yehuda, but he spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. Around him was the single greatest threat to Rome in the region. Virtually every band of Zealots had gathered when the cry for help went out.

  “Talk to them?” Jesus Barabbas sneered. “Talk to them about what? They’re not going to give her back. I say we leave now, make it look like we lost our nerve, then hit them hard at the Beth Horon pass.”

  Gehazi then spoke up; he was the oldest of the leaders and therefore the closest to an acknowledged head among men who were all fiercely independent. “It may come to that,” he said, obviously not relishing the thought. “But talking should come first. The word we have is that Pilate’s not looking for trouble right now. I think this is all a mistake.”

  “Maybe if we went to Mordechai,” Yehuda started. But then he bit it off and shook his head bitterly. Mordechai wasn’t about to offer any help in this, not for a servant girl, not for the one who encouraged Miriam in her defection from her father. He turned to Simeon. “Your Latin is the best. Maybe now, seeing the kind of numbers we can muster, they’ll be willing to talk. Tell them we can have the papers here in a few days.” His jaw clenched. “But they need to know, Simeon. Livia is not going to Caesarea tomorrow.”

  “I have a concern.” They turned. It was David, Simeon’s father, who had spoken. “The captain is Tribune Marcus Didius.”

  “So?” Gehazi asked.

  “He knows Livia. In fact, he purchased freedom for her brother in Rome. There was never any question about Livia’s papers before.”

  “So what has that got to do with anything?” Barabbas retorted. “What are you saying?”

  “For some reason, this is a deliberate provocation,” David said. “There has been no word of a search for runaway slaves.”

  “Well,” Barabbas shot back, “if it’s provocation they’re looking for, then I say, let’s show them what provocation means to a Zealot.” Several others in the circle emphatically agreed.

  “Go!” Yehuda barked at Simeon. “Let’s see what happens.”

  As Simeon moved up to the circle of troops, they stiffened, spears dropping to point at his belly. “I wish to speak to your tribune,” he said in flawless Latin. “Tell him Simeon ben David of Capernaum wishes to confer.”

  “I am here.” The gate opened another two feet, and Marcus stepped into view. “Let him pass.”

  The front of the circle opened. Simeon hesitated for a moment. Suddenly there flashed into his mind memories of the night when he had stood on the aqueduct outside of Caesarea. He had gone to negotiate with Marcus Didius on that night too, and it ended up with both him and Yehuda rotting in a cell in Caesarea. But it was too late to change his mind now. He moved through the line of soldiers, which immediately closed back when he passed. Marcus stepped back inside, and Simeon followed.

  “So,” Marcus said, openly disgusted, “you are part of this little insurrection? I thought you had become a follower of that pacifist from Nazareth.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Simeon asked quietly. “Of all men, you know Livia is not a runaway.”

  “You really don’t understand?” He started walking slowly. Simeon glanced around. He saw two sentries posted at the stairs to the main building, but nothing more. He fell in beside the tribune.

  “Think about it, Simeon ben David,” Marcus said. He was speaking as if to a child. “If you are right about what I know, and of course you are, then why would I do such a thing?”

  “If this is some cheap way of getting back at me, why use Livia? She was not responsible for what happened between me and Miriam.”

  Marcus laughed derisively. “You think that’s it? That it’s only a desire for petty revenge? Ah, Simeon, you disappoint me. You’ve lost your edge, my friend.”

  “What will it take to get Livia back? Money? Is that what
you’re after?”

  “Oh,” Marcus said softly, “much more than that. And you? Why you’re just sauce on the pudding.”

  Suddenly Simeon, whose eyes were darting this way and that, saw something that made his blood run cold. All around the inside of the walls of the Antonia were board catwalks, designed so soldiers could defend the walls in time of war. Beneath those overhangs, everything was in shadow. But a movement had caught his eye. As he turned and peered more closely, he saw rank after rank of soldiers in the shadows. They were standing at attention, shields up, swords and spears in hand. Hundreds of them.

  He spun around, a shout rising in his throat, but instantly Marcus was on him. His arm shot out and clamped around Simeon’s neck, cutting off his cry. At the same time, Marcus pressed a dagger hard against his ribs. Simeon gasped at the sudden sharp pain in his side. “Take this man!” Marcus called urgently. Four men leaped from the shadows and grabbed Simeon by the arms.

  “Will you never learn?” Marcus said mockingly. Then he raised his head. “Attack!” he bellowed. “Take them!”

  As Simeon gasped, all along the upper catwalks bowmen leaped up and leaned out over the walls, notching their arrows. Thwung! The sound of a hundred bowstrings being loosed at the same moment sounded like a bell struck with a muffled hammer. The courtyard, deadly quiet before, exploded into action. With a mighty roar, the waiting soldiers burst from the shadows, their hobnailed sandals pounding like hail on an empty barrel. Five men leaped to the two gates and swung them fully open.

  Simeon could only gape as he was dragged backward out of their way. There were easily a thousand Romans in the attack. He jerked his head to one side. “Ambush! Run!” A heavy blow struck him on the back of the head, and he went down, brilliant colors flashing before his eyes.

  “Fool!” the soldier growled. “Keep your mouth shut!”

  VIII

  Yehuda nervously watched Simeon and Marcus as they disappeared behind the gates. The murmur of their voices died. “Careful,” he muttered. “Watch him, Simeon.”