Читать книгу The Robber - Bertram Brooker - Страница 4

Table of Contents

Spring came that year with the sudden fury of summer. The maddening heat blazed over fields and vineyards, drying up streams and springs, and withering the young crops, while flocks grew lean and died in the scorched pastures. Earthquakes rocked the hills along the whole northern coast of the Mediterranean from Antioch to Tarshish. Omens and prophecies multiplied, and the belief began to spread through all the Roman world that this might be the last summer mankind would ever see.

It was said that the phoenix-bird, fiery symbol of catastrophe, had reappeared in Egypt after an interval of fourteen hundred years. In Persia the priests of the Sun God kept their altars flaming in expectation of the earth's immediate purification by fire. Caesar Tiberius had fled to the island of Capri, surrounding himself with soothsayers who nightly watched the skies for signs of the end of the world. Antipas, son of Herod the Great, who had seduced his brother's wife in Rome, hastened back with her to his petty kingdom of Galilee, fearing that victims of his father's slaughter, thirty years before, had risen from the dead to snatch away his throne. Pontius Pilate, the new governor of Judea, who had stirred up priests and people to ominous rioting, was being urged by his fear-ridden spouse, Claudia, to resign his post. Interpreters of her dreams had filled her with forebodings of a revolt of the Jews, led by a superhuman hero, who would usurp the power of all the rulers of the world. Premonitions that the tyranny of Rome was doomed had revived hopes of the coming of a Messiah to the chosen people. It was rumoured in Galilee that the promised Son of David had already come. A prophet who baptized penitents in the Jordan declared to all who would listen that the kingdom of heaven was at hand. Beyond Jordan another prophet, who was also a robber, sharing his spoils among the needy, preached to his victims of a coming time when all kingdoms would be abolished.

In that year of drought and disaster there was no lack of prophecy. The whole world was ready to believe that wickedness must soon be swallowed up in a day of awful judgment.

The sun, blazing down into the great gorge of the Jordan, day after day, had shrivelled the young fruit blossoms, and now the fig trees were blackened as in winter, and the silver olive leaves were rusty and wrinkled. The parched fields flanking the Jericho Road looked desolate, and the road itself was deserted as the fierce sun declined on the sixth day of the month Sivan, for everyone capable of the journey had gone up to Jerusalem for the Feast of Pentecost.

Alone on the road as it descended to the ford of the Jordan, a wounded man, staggering dizzily at the end of his strength, flung a backward glance over his shoulder, seeking the movement of pursuers in the hills behind, before he started across the dried-up river. Sliding at every step on the slimy stones, he grew giddy, stumbled, and found himself on his hands and knees in the trickling water. Blood was oozing from a wound in his face. A savage sword-stroke had cut into his jaw, and he had been alternately running and plodding for more than an hour, pressing a bleeding piece of flesh against the splintered bone. His wrist and one side of his coarse garment were splattered with blood, and now dark, heavy drops were dripping from his beard as his head swayed forward.

He had hoped to cross the Jordan by nightfall, but as he tried to raise himself, he saw that the long shadowy fingers of dusk which had been reaching out ahead of him had closed together into a dark fist, enfolding the whole valley in deepening gloom. Eastward, beyond the marshes, the path to Bethabara threaded steeply upward to the summit of the mountainous cliff. A few houses standing close to the overhanging brow of rock, their tiny white walls stained by the last fierce glow of the sunset, appeared like scraps of bread dipped in a ruddy wine.

The fugitive groaned. Up there in the village, among those who had known him since youth, someone could be found to bind up his wound and hide him until it had healed, but when he tried to stand upright the trembling in his legs told him that he must find a closer refuge. It would be all he could do to reach the pools, a little above the first steep twist in the road. Nearby was a cave where he had hidden a year before. It was known to few, for the opening was screened by a thicket of oleanders growing close to the spring which welled up from the cavern floor.

The oncoming darkness would hide the splotches of blood he had left at every step on the road, but when dawn came they would betray him. He began to doubt that he would see another day's light, yet through a throbbing haze of pain the need for haste urged him on. His pursuers could not be far behind.

Dragging himself wearily from rock to rock, he reached the fringe of the marsh. The soil was baked hard by weeks of blistering heat, and the overgrown stand of papyrus reeds, twice the height of a man, offered immediate concealment. He began to crawl through the brittle stalks which broke under his weight with a cracking noise with every movement he made. Now and then he lay still, listening for the tread of sandals on the stony road, but there was no sound in all the valley except the occasional screech of birds overhead flying homeward for the night.

He could not see the sky, which was already darkening, through the tangle of reeds above him. Creeping slowly and blindly, desperately fighting the dizziness which threatened to daze his mind, he lost all sense of direction. He could not tell whether he was moving toward the cliff, but he struggled on, and at last the wall of stalks thinned around him. A gasp of hope rose in his throat as he saw the jagged chalky side of the precipice towering above him.

The greatest effort was to come. Avoiding the road, he would have to find the goat path he had discovered the year before. Loss of blood had so weakened him that his heart was dismayed at the thought of dragging himself up between sharp rocks to the level of the pools. Night was falling with tropical swiftness, but fortunately the path gleamed white in the dusk. With a great sigh he began the ascent, first reaching up and clinging to ledges of rock and then dragging up his numbed body and trembling legs after him.

The climb seemed endless, but before long the smell of the spring water was wafted down to him like a cool breath. Refreshed for the moment, he clambered the rest of the way more quickly until he saw a fading light on the pool nearest the road. Outside the cave there were three rock basins, one above the other, fed by springs which welled up silently from green niches in the limestone cliff. The upper pools emptied themselves by wide smooth-flowing falls into the lowest and largest, which was an almost perfect oval set like a sapphire in a projecting shelf of the mountainside.

Crawling to the brink of the uppermost pool, the fugitive gulped down a draught of the cold earth-smelling water, then dipped his face, rocking his head to and fro until the cool flow had soothed his throbbing wound.

A bleating sound, close at hand, startled him. Glancing anxiously behind him, he saw a goat tethered to a bush. It was of the kind kept for its milk, a heavy, shaggy beast with curved horns and enormous hanging ears. He immediately surmised that someone was now living in the cave and in a moment his suspicions were verified by a pair of hairy hands parting the oleander bushes which hid the entrance. A man stepped forth. It could be seen at once that he was a hermit and one who had taken religious vows, for his long unruly hair and thick beard had never been touched by shears, while his almost fleshless arms and legs spoke of long periods of fasting. He was wearing a shirt of coarse hair-cloth, girdled by a strip of hide. In the dusk his sun-blackened face was hardly distinguishable, except for the hollows of his deep-set eyes.

The fugitive raised his head and tried to speak, but his jaw was stiff and the stabbing pain prevented him from uttering more than a few disjointed syllables.

Hastening forward, the hermit knelt down and looked closely at the jagged wound. In a hoarse voice he began questioning the injured man, asking him if he had fallen among thieves; but being answered only with a groan, he nodded his understanding of the other's pain.

"In my cave I have an ointment of tamarisk bark that will stop the bleeding," he said. "It is only a few steps."

There was little strength in the hermit's arms, but with his help the wounded man tottered upright. He was almost a head taller than his rescuer, who suddenly flung up at him a piercing glance of recognition.

Without a word the hermit moved forward, bearing all he could of the other's weight. Darkness shrouded the inside of the cave, but after a few steps the injured man felt something soft under his feet, and at a word from his guide he sank down on a bed of skins.

Striking a spark to the wick of a tiny earthenware lamp, the hermit began searching among many jars and vessels in a niche of the wall until he found the black odorous salve he wanted. Then, kneeling beside the fugitive, who held the lamp close, he gently sealed the edges of the wound with a thick layer of the ointment of tamarisk bark.

Leaving the lamp on the floor, he went out of the cave, returning after a brief absence with a handful of tendrils of some wiry creeping plant. These he twisted into cords and bound them across the wound.

"By daybreak the blood will be dried," he said. "Then you will be able to swallow a sop of goat's milk and honey."

The sun was up when the wounded man awakened, startled by harsh voices outside the cavern, seemingly in dispute.

From ear to chin his face was throbbing, but the pain had lessened and when he touched the wound he found that the blood that had been oozing through the ointment had congealed into a hard crust. He tried opening his jaws very slowly and discovered that he could do so with little pain. Then he began moving his legs, putting more and more weight on them until at last, by clinging to the wall, he dragged himself upright. His whole body was stiff, and cramps tore through his muscles as he groped his way toward the mouth of the cave.

Keeping himself well hidden, he peered through the swaying oleanders and saw at once the plume of a captain's helmet fluttering in the wind that had sprung up during the night. Standing on tiptoe, he could see two or three soldiers farther down the path. They had their backs turned and they seemed to be staring at the falls which sent a faint splashing sound through the quiet of the morning. All that could be seen of the hermit was the crown of his unruly hair. The sound of his harsh voice died away. A younger voice replied, and the fugitive, trying to catch the words blown away by the wind, was able to hear the captain say:

"The man we seek is half a head taller than you or any other man this side of Jordan."

"Then he should not be hard to find."

The hermit's voice sounded contemptuously defiant, and the wounded man felt a sudden warmth melting the fear that had chilled him at his first glimpse of the soldiers. The words and the tone in which they were uttered gave him hope that the hermit would not betray him.

"We found his blood on the path that leads to these pools," the captain answered impatiently. "He must have come here to bathe his wound."

"Are you his kinsman?"

"No. We are from the fortress of Machaerus."

"In the hire of Herod Antipas," the hermit spat out, scornfully.

"We serve the king," said the captain, his fresh young voice lifting with pride.

"And this man you seek, is he another hireling of Herod's?"

"No. He is a robber. He calls himself Barabbas."

"I have heard of him," the hermit answered. "They say he is a prophet."

"He is a thief!"

"I have heard it said that he shares his spoils with the poor and prophesies a day when rich and poor will be levelled."

"He is a robber," the captain persisted, angrily. "Yesterday we surrounded his men when they were about to rob a Syrian merchant. The thieves fled, but Barabbas stayed to fight, to cover their escape. We wounded him and pursued him into the valley. Then night came on and we lost him. We know he came here for there is his blood on the path. You must be hiding him. Where is your dwelling?"

"Wherever God wills."

"What brings you to the pools at this hour?"

"Since the Jordan has dried up I baptize penitents here and warn them of the wrath to come."

The fugitive, crouching out of sight, stifled a gasp of astonishment. He had heard of John, called the Baptist, and had seen him at a distance, surrounded by pilgrims at the ford of the Jordan, but the night before, in the dusk, he had not known him. The Baptist was reputed to judge sinners harshly, yet he had knowingly sheltered him, a robber, and was even now deceiving his pursuers. The reason was plain. John had been fearless in denouncing Antipas as the vilest of the Herods, and at that moment he was raising his voice against him in the hearing of one of his captains.

"A day of judgment will swallow up your whoring king, whose father murdered his own wife and his own sons ..."

"Beware!"

Barabbas heard the rasp of a sword in its scabbard and was astonished to hear John's violent voice, harsher than ever, crying out: "Put up your sword! My tongue is mightier than your steel, and the voice of a coming One, mightier than I, shall purge the world of such monstrous masters as yours."

"A man of might!" mocked the captain, and his men joined in a burst of laughter. "Shall we take him to the fortress for questioning?"

"He is mad. You will get nothing from him," replied one of the soldiers.

"Moreover, he will preach at us every step of the way," said another.

"Your steps and your ways are evil and those who hire you are evil," John thundered at them. "Turn aside from iniquity! Repent! Repent of your ways! The day of the wrath of Jehovah is at hand!"

"Did I not tell you?" said the soldier.

The voices ceased. Barabbas could hear the soldiers moving down the steep path. Breathing deeply with a sense of relief, he returned slowly to the couch of skins and was stretching himself out again when John came into the cavern.

"You have saved my life," Barabbas said awkwardly, the words muffled by the stiffness of his jaw, but John said severely: "It is the Lord God who saves lives. See to it that the life He has spared repays Him."