Fishers of Men

by Gerald N. Lund

  He turned and saw that David and Ephraim were watching just as intently as he was and that their eyes were just as worried as his must be. He felt his skin begin to crawl. Something was wrong.

  David started angling off to one side so he could keep his son in sight longer as he receded through the narrow opening. Ephraim followed his father. That simple act probably saved their lives. As they moved away from the main body of men, suddenly there was a shout. Their heads swept upward as movement caught their eye. A hundred bowman—two hundred! maybe more!—lined the parapets. The sunlight momentarily flickered as hundreds of arrows passed overhead.

  Men screamed and went down. “To arms!” someone shouted in Aramaic. David thought it was Gehazi’s voice. He didn’t turn to see. He grabbed Ephraim’s tunic and jerked him forward. “Run!” he shouted. “For the porches.”

  Like every other wall of the temple courtyards, covered porticoes lined the wall that abutted the Antonia Fortress, offering shade and rest from the Judean sun. The two men dashed ahead, weaving back and forth. Bone- and metal-tipped arrows began pinging off the paving stones around them. With a diving leap, they vanished into the deep shadows and out of the line of fire.

  They dropped to a crouch behind one of the pillars, then turned to stare in horror. Legionnaires were streaming out of the fortress, swords flashing in the sun. The Galileans fell back, screaming and shouting, pulling together to form a defensive ring. But the Romans were like a flash flood overrunning an earthen dam. The Galileans’ naked flesh was no match for naked steel, metal shields, and leather armor. Bodies were falling everywhere. Men on both sides were stumbling over them as they fell on one another. Arrows still filled the air. The din was deafening. Screams, shrieks, and curses joined the clang of swords. Farther away, a roar of terror went up as the crowd of onlookers who had come to watch panicked and stampeded away.

  “A vicious trap,” David gasped between breaths. “This was their plan all along.”

  “We’ve got to get Simeon,” Ephraim cried.

  “No!”

  Ephraim stared at him.

  “Not yet. The Galileans are falling back. They’re pulling the Romans with them. Give them a minute and perhaps the fortress will be emptied.”

  IX

  The moment the guards took Simeon from his grasp, Marcus sprinted forward, shouting at his men. He shot through the gate and into the Court of the Gentiles, Sextus right behind him. He stopped, shouting at the top of his lungs, directing the men as they poured out into the courtyard. He raced back and forth, leaping in to slash and parry, then falling back to assess their progress.

  In moments, there were fifty bodies on the ground. Sixty. Very few of them were in uniform, he noted with satisfaction. Blood was everywhere. The Galileans were falling back with heavy losses.

  “Sextus!”

  The centurion sidestepped a sword thrust and clubbed the man on the side of the head. As the man went down hard, Sextus swung around. “Here, sire!”

  Marcus pointed. “Take some men around the flank. Cut them off. I don’t want any getting out the main gate.”

  “Yes, sire.” The centurion leaped forward, shouting at his men to follow.

  Marcus didn’t wait to see how they fared. He moved in to help a soldier who was desperately fighting against two Galileans. Behind them, Marcus saw something that gave him great satisfaction. A man was falling back under the onslaught of three legionnaires. He was big and heavily bearded. He looked as if he had gone totally, utterly mad. It was Yehuda of Beth Neelah.

  X

  Jerusalem, under the Northern Porticoes on the Temple Mount

  David watched, feeling sick. This was a massacre. He looked toward the gate that led into the Antonia Fortress. There were no more soldiers coming out now. The battle line was slowly moving away from them, toward the entrance to the Court of the Women. The Galileans had recovered somewhat and were putting up a furious resistance. Their reputation for valor had not been lightly won. Bitter hand-to-hand combat was raging everywhere David looked. But they were still falling back under the press of sheer numbers. The closest soldier was now a full hundred paces from the gate. David could see no one watching the gates. There was no need to. The battle was moving east and south, in front of the Court of the Women, and it was being won.

  He looked at Ephraim. “One more minute; then we’ll go.”

  XI

  Jerusalem, Antonia Fortress

  Any legionnaire worthy of the title hated being left behind in the heat of battle. They wanted to be in the thick of it. The four men who had taken Simeon from Marcus quickly bound his wrists in front of him. They dragged him beneath one of the overhanging catwalks and pushed him to the ground. Later he would be taken to a prison cell, but now their comrades needed every sword they could get. Telling the youngest of them to watch the prisoner, they ran off with a shout to join the battle.

  Simeon stifled a groan as he carefully rolled onto his side. His head felt like it had been split right down the middle. When he moved too quickly, his vision blurred a little. From his position under the catwalk, he could see into the courtyard. Where before there had been a rush of men, now it was empty. His guard stood out in the sunlight, trying to see what was happening through the gate.

  Careful not to make any sound, Simeon turned his head, looking for his belt with the sword and dagger. He couldn’t see it anywhere. Inching his way backwards, keeping an eye on the young soldier, he moved deeper into the shadows. Finally he bumped against the wall. He waited for a moment, but the guard was too engrossed to notice what was going on behind him.

  Simeon pushed himself into a sitting position, then tested his bonds. The man who tied his wrists may have been hurried, but he had done a good job. The ropes were cutting into Simeon’s flesh, and they were too thick to cut with anything but a knife. Bracing his back against the wall, he pulled himself up onto his feet. He looked around and then stepped behind a door that stood partially open. Inside, he saw a storage room filled with sacks of grain.

  “Hey!” he shouted.

  The guard whirled. He stared at where Simeon had been; then, with a cry, he whipped out his sword. He dashed forward, squinting against the brightness of the sun, then moved deeper into the shadows, his eyes sweeping back and forth. Simeon waited until he had nearly passed the door, then stepped out. Both fists swung in a vicious arc, catching the man squarely in the jaw. The man gave a strangled cry and went down.

  In an instant, Simeon was on the guard’s back, trying to get his hands over the man’s head so he could control him. But it wasn’t necessary. The man lay still. There wasn’t so much as a groan.

  Glancing quickly into the courtyard to make sure no one else had come, Simeon stood. Though it was awkward with his hands tied, Simeon grabbed the man by his wrists and dragged him into the storeroom and shut the door. Removing the man’s dagger from his belt, Simeon propped it between his feet and began to saw back and forth on his bonds.

  Three minutes later, Simeon walked out of the room and shut the door. He stopped at the edge of the shadow to search the courtyard once more. He adjusted his breastplate and helmet—they were a little large, but not noticeably so, he hoped—then he took a quick breath and stepped out into the sunshine. Without looking back, he headed across the courtyard toward the main door of the great fortress. He rounded a corner. There, as he had hoped, he saw only two sentries.

  “What’s happening?” one sentry demanded. “Were you out there?”

  “It’s a rout!” Simeon said in Latin, giving them the victory sign. “There must be a thousand Galileans already dead. And the rest are on the run.”

  He started forward, but the other guard lowered his spear.

  Simeon swung on him angrily. “Tribune Didius wants the Greek woman he made prisoner. Now!”

  “Oh.” The man stepped back, cowed by Simeon’s anger.

  Without another word, Simeon passed and entered the darker interior. He understood that the prison was in the bas
ement, but he had never been inside this garrison. Moving swiftly, he ran along the hall that went the length of the building. Nothing. He turned and raced back the other way. At the end was a broad staircase leading up and down. He turned and went down, taking the steps three at a time. At the bottom there was another long hallway, with dozens of alcoves. About midway down the hallway, a man sat on a low chair against the wall. When he saw Simeon, he got to his feet. He was barrel chested and wore only a short tunic, with a leather strap across his chest.

  That was what Simeon was looking for. He broke into a trot. As he approached, the man put a hand on the hilt of his sword. “What do you want? You’re not authorized to be down here.”

  “Tribune Didius wants the woman.”

  “What?”

  Simeon had reached the man’s side. He was contemplating how he would strike if this man refused to cooperate. He was huge and very powerful looking. It would not be easy. Simeon thought quickly. “The tribune has a pocket of Galileans cornered. Most of them are already dead, but one group is still fighting. The prisoner is the wife of one of the leaders. He’ll use her to make them surrender.”

  The man began to nod.

  “Move!” Simeon shouted. “Lives are at stake here.”

  The man jumped guiltily, then snatched a large iron ring with several keys attached. “Wait here,” he said.

  Almost collapsing with relief, Simeon nodded and stepped back. Then he realized that he had another problem. When Livia saw him . . . He looked around quickly, stepping into one of the alcoves behind where the guard had been sitting. A moment later, footsteps sounded, and the guard reappeared. Behind him came Livia, her wrists manacled.

  The guard gave a soft grunt when he saw the empty hallway, but then Simeon stepped out, moving directly behind the prisoner. “Thank you,” he said roughly. He touched the point of the sword to Livia’s back. “Start walking!” he commanded.

  Not until they had rounded the corner and started up the stairs did Simeon stop. “Livia!” She whirled and gave a low cry. He clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shhh!”

  Livia nodded, her eyes wide with joy.

  He removed his hand and motioned for her to keep moving up the stairs. “This was all an elaborate trap,” he whispered. “There’s a major battle raging outside of the fortress.”

  Livia turned, color draining from her face. “Yehuda?”

  “He’s out there.” Breath exploded from him. “It’s bad, Livia. I don’t know.”

  Before she could cry out, he stopped her with a chopping motion of his hand. They were almost to the top of the stairs. “There are still guards. Look frightened.”

  She gave a wan smile. As if he had to ask.

  They stepped into the long hallway and started for the main entrance. Simeon still held his sword at Livia’s back, but it was not touching her.

  “Hey!” one of the sentries said as he saw Simeon. “She’s good looking!”

  “Yeah,” the other one grunted. “Maybe when the tribune is done with her, he’ll give her to us for a day or two.”

  The first sentry gave a hoot of laughter and made a bawdy comment, which Simeon didn’t answer. They marched down the stairs and out into the courtyard. “Straight for the gate,” he hissed. “Don’t look around. Keep your head lowered.”

  XII

  Jerusalem, at the Gate Beautiful on the Temple Mount

  A mighty shout went up from behind the Zealots. Yehuda swung around. What he saw dashed all hopes he might have had. A band of legionnaires had broken off the battle and raced around the flank. Now they were coming in from behind. Their only route of escape—out the Golden Gate and into the Kidron Valley—was cut off.

  Yehuda groaned. “Into the Court of the Women,” he shouted. “Get the gates shut.” He turned to follow his own command, wincing in pain as he did so. His left arm hung loosely at his side, blood streaming from a gash made by a Roman broadsword. A broken shaft extended from high in the back of that same shoulder. He had taken a Roman arrow in the first volley and nearly went down. It was Barabbas who had grabbed him, yelled at him to hang on, then snapped the shaft off, causing Yehuda to scream in pain.

  He looked around. Barabbas was a few feet away. He had a deep cut on one cheek, and blood was seeping into his beard. He dragged one of his men, moaning piteously, across the paving stones.

  “Where’s Gehazi?” Yehuda shouted.

  Barabbas shook his head. “Down!”

  “Into the court. It’s our only chance.”

  Barabbas started screaming at the men around him. “Fall back! Fall back! Inside the gates. They can’t follow us in there.”

  As Yehuda reached the top of the stairs, he saw a man on hands and knees, a large dark stain covering the back of his tunic. “Elihu!”

  The head came up. “I’m hit, Yehuda. Help me.”

  Yehuda stuck his sword into his belt and reached out with his good hand. It was like lifting a very large sack of grain. Elihu grunted with pain; then, just as he got to his feet, his face contorted in horror. “Yehuda!” he screamed.

  Yehuda spun around. A legionnaire was running up the stairs, blade gleaming red in the sunlight. Shocked that the Wall of Partition had been breached, Yehuda lunged backwards. He tripped and went down. He rolled, but not quickly enough. Fire shot through him as he felt a powerful blow strike his right side. Fortunately, the soldier’s charge had thrown him off balance, and he stumbled over Yehuda’s legs and went sprawling. His sword skittered away. A scream of rage burst from Elihu’s throat as he whipped out his dagger and fell on the man.

  XIII

  “Sextus! Demas!”

  Sextus turned, looking for his commander. Then he saw him. His helmet was gone, and one side of his tunic was ripped away, but Sextus could see no wounds on the tribune. “Here!” Sextus yelled, waving an arm and darting forward.

  “Where’s Demas?” Marcus called as Sextus reached him. Demas was another of the senior centurions.

  “Maybe dead. I saw some of his men dragging him away.”

  Marcus pointed. “They’re going inside the Court of the Women. We’ve got to stop them.”

  Sextus stared at him. “Inside, sire?” In the heat of battle, no one was paying much attention to the soreg, but to go into the inner courts of the temple itself? Such a thing had never happened, not even in previous riots.

  Marcus swore. “Knock down the whole complex if you have to. Don’t let them shut those gates.” Without waiting, he raced away, screaming at the men around him.

  Sextus didn’t hesitate. “Defend the gates. Defend the gates.”

  XIV

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

  David waited another full minute, then jumped up. The battle had moved to the area in front of the temple entrance. He felt sick. The sounds of the conflict had sharply increased a few minutes before, and he knew the Romans sensed victory.

  He looked around one last time. “All right, let’s go.”

  They ran west. “Stay in the shadows,” he hissed over his shoulder. Above them arrows were flying. That meant the archers were still atop the ramparts of the massive fortress, watching for anything that moved. But there was no way they could see the two running figures directly below them.

  “How will we find him?” Ephraim cried in a hoarse whisper.

  “I don’t know. Pray for a miracle.”

  They slowed as they approached the end of the portico, where the gate opened into the central court of the Antonia Fortress. David had his sword out, fully expecting to find sentries there, but none were in sight. They passed through without a challenge.

  Then David pulled up short, unable to believe his eyes. Two figures were coming toward him, a man and a woman, hugging the wall. He peered more closely. It was Livia, her head down. Neither had seen them yet.

  At that instant, the soldier looked up and shouted. He ripped off his helmet. “Father!”

  “Simeon!”

  “Help me,” Sim
eon cried. “We’ve got to get Livia out of here.”

  They raced forward, and Ephraim took Livia’s hand. “Quick. Stay with me.”

  David grasped Simeon’s arm, noting an ugly bruise on the back of his head. His relief was so intense it was almost crippling. “We came from the porticoes,” he said, pointing toward the north. “There’s no one there.”

  “Go! Go!” Simeon urged.

  XV

  Jerusalem, in the Court of Israel on the Temple Mount

  The Court of the Women was raised twelve steps higher than the main level of the Temple Mount, or the Court of the Gentiles. The Court of Israel was raised even higher, fifteen additional steps above the Court of the Women. And the temple itself was raised higher still, set on a platform twenty or more feet above the Court of the Gentiles. Yehuda had made it to the level of the Court of Israel before collapsing. He lay there, holding his side, trying to staunch the bleeding. From this vantage point, he watched as legionnaires stormed the first set of steps and drove the Galileans back from the massive gates. Yehuda knew they had lost.

  “Come on,” he said to Elihu, who had made it that far with him. Their only hope was if the Romans hadn’t yet thought to guard the side gates that led from the Court of Israel back onto the Temple Mount.

  He staggered to his feet, weaving back and forth, feeling light-headed. He reached out a hand for Elihu, but the other man shook his head. “I can’t. Go!”

  Yehuda knew that there was no way he could lift him. He nodded. “Throw down your sword. Don’t try to fight them.” And with that he lumbered away.

  As he stumbled across the Court of Israel, he looked around anxiously. Animals were bleating madly. Men who had come for the afternoon sacrifices and had been trapped when the fight erupted, cowered in corners, eyes wide with terror. Yehuda stared at them, making sure the place held no enemies, then promptly forgot them.

  Two men he thought he knew, though he wasn’t sure, raced past him, faces bloodied, swords hanging loosely at their sides. They too looked around, then fled through the gates on the south.