Читать книгу All Who Came Before - Simon Perry - Страница 8

The warmth of a booming laugh told the brothers that Yudah had returned with company. His arm was on the back of his companion who emerged almost reluctantly into the light of the garden. A figure who had to stoop as much as Yudah to pass through the archway leaned back as he walked forward.

“Yeshua, Theudas, this is Amram.” Yudah’s companion was impossible to age, but had the look of someone younger than his appearance suggested. In fact, he seemed to have missed an appointment with his grave. Hades evidently did not consider this too much of an inconvenience. The pursuit of Amram was clearly not worth any expense of energy. He would surely find his way back to the angel of death soon enough of his own accord. Amram eyed the brothers, revealing an ill-favored complexion restrained by dark hairs poised to turn grey at any moment. His smile, though requiring minimal effort, revealed a missing front tooth. Its absence cast upon that smile a trace of warmth that might otherwise have remained undetectable. “The finest marksman in the province,” Yudah boomed, handing his friend a large earthenware cup of wine, “when he hasn’t been drinking.”

Amram released a gutsy belch as he extended his right hand to Yeshua and then to Theudas. A few silent convulsions in Amram’s throat and chest passed before his voice was freed to greet them.

“Good work this morning, boys,” he grinned before returning to a frenzy of silent belching.

“An archer? With which army?” asked a wide-eyed Theudas.

“Seventeenth legion, under Publius Quinctilius Varus.”

Immediately Yeshua’s mind raced back to the fireside stories of his father’s legionary friend, Caius. This was a legion wiped out in ambush by Germanic tribes. “Were you in Germania?” he asked in awe.

On seeing that Yeshua knew what this meant, he simply replied, “Indeed I was. And I’m pretty sure, I’m the only one that’s not still there!”

“He can knock a sparrow off its perch at a hundred paces,” said Yudah with friendly pride.

“And that’s just with my breath!” added Amram as a prelude the next round of belches.

Yeshua wondered how a professional soldier had become anti-Roman. Had he been a deserter? Or perhaps regarded as such? Had he been spurned by the Romans when he returned from the front as a sole survivor? His mind was full of questions that he dared not ask. Yet, despite this unspoken curiosity, the atmosphere of the garden remained light, bringing further but still much needed comfort to the brothers. No secrets were hidden. Yeshua was surrounded by people who not only knew of his escapades, but who regarded the morning’s action as normal, perhaps even commendable. This awareness was deeply comforting. So too was the knowledge that the company who took the news of this assassination in stride were not insane or bloodthirsty criminals, nor were they altogether strangers. It was a comfort superficial and short-lived, and although the Egyptian knew this, it was welcome for as long as it lasted.

Eventually a pause in the conversation, brought about by Amram and Yudah lifting their cups to their mouths in coincidental unison, inexplicably drew everyone’s attention to the gatehouse. Another familiar figured appeared as if on cue.

“Kaleb!” Yudah moved from his seat with his oversized equivalent to a leap. The host’s free arm extended toward the Pharisee’s left shoulder.

Kaleb, radiating untold energy and warmth, acknowledged Yudah and graced his host with formality, but made straight for Yeshua and Theudas as though he were being freshly acquainted with old friends. “Brothers! As I said at the synagogue, you have my support,” the Pharisee smiled.

“But you! This morning! You should be dead!” said Theudas with deep admiration.

“Well, Romans are easily confused,” he chuckled dismissively, but noticed the momentary lift in Amram’s eyebrows. “Most revolutionaries nowadays don’t go for military targets,” he grinned at the archer.

Yeshua tempered his response with calm. The Pharisee’s charisma had immediately overcome his younger brother, but from Yeshua it evoked as much caution as wonder. “We’re not revolutionaries.”

“Well, whatever you are, you have acted for the sake of justice. What are your plans?”

“Our plans are to enjoy Judean wine on this fine summer evening, in this fine company.”

“And rightly so!” laughed the Pharisee. Kaleb’s eyes bored into those of Yeshua with an intensity that, whilst partly unwelcome, brought with it an assurance, a confidence that the God of heaven and earth was silently pledging his allegiance. “This wine will bring you the worthiest hangover. But what are your plans when that hangover lifts?”

Yeshua glanced at Theudas and lost his grin. “Home,” he announced, “with justice for our brothers and our father.”

“Which brothers?” the Pharisee pushed, glancing around at all who were present. “And which Father?” he laughed, as he raised his eyes to heaven. Yeshua was overcome by the sheer weight carried by so few words, so lightly spoken.

“Yeshua doesn’t worship the God of Abraham,” Yudah interjected.

“But he does seek justice?” quizzed the Pharisee. “And whatever you worship, violence begets violence.” Kaleb fastened his eyes again upon Yeshua, who under other circumstances may have given way to their charm. The Egyptian’s current state however, left him only too aware of the mortal consequences this conversation might have. Still, he remained overawed by the realization that the Pharisee’s heroic deeds were a reaction to the deeds done by his own hand that very morning. Kaleb’s searching eyes had penetrated the deepest recesses of the Egyptian’s mind. “Your action has resulted in five more deaths . . . So . . . what must you do?”

“We must do nothing!” said Yeshua with a smile that could barely hide his growing fear. He scanned the others to assess how much authority the Pharisee commanded in this miniature congregation.

“Careful,” said Amram with a grin. “Don’t quote scripture at Kaleb. He’d have you for breakfast . . .” He paused mid-sentence to allow air through his windpipe. The pause was long enough to make Theudas restrain himself from completing the sentence using the very words with which Amram eventually concluded, “. . . if he wasn’t fasting.”

“Ah, but this is a Rabbi’s son!” laughed Yudah with his hand now on Yeshua’s shoulder, apparently stirring them up for the contest but lightening the atmosphere as he did.

“Theudas and I just want to get back home. We have lost our brothers. We have avenged them. ‘An eye for an eye.’ For us it is the end of the story.”

“There are plenty in Israel who would disagree.” Amram’s voice echoed out of his cup as he looked and spoke into it.

“Are you going to stop us leaving?” asked Yeshua, looking at the three men who had begun to look menacing, at least to Yeshua.

“It’s cavalry that stand in your way. Not your friends,” answered Yudah, in as kindly a tone as he could summon up.

Kaleb leaned forward and continued in the sympathetic vein of his host. “I understand you are grieving. But you must know that you are not alone in your grief . . .” The sympathy felt merciless to Yeshua. The Pharisee spoke gently, calmly. “What those Romans did to your brothers was unspeakable. But have you thought about your brothers here in Judea? Do you know what those Romans are doing to the people who live here? For you, the prefect’s actions were tragic. But we,” he lifted his arms to his sides, “we live with this tragedy day in, day out. Yudah brought you to the synagogue today so that you could feel something of it for yourselves.”

Yeshua looked at his brother who was clearly open to the idea of hearing more from Yudah and his guests. Yeshua was having none of it, but had no desire to debate with a zealous Pharisee whose intent clearly ran beyond winning an argument. “I understand what you’re saying. But we’ve played our part. We’ve relieved you of two soldiers . . .”

“And robbed us of five countrymen,” interrupted Amram.

“Your prefect did that, not us!”

“And why did he do that? . . . Because of your violence,” the Pharisee pressed.

“So what you’re suggesting is peaceful?” Yeshua asked Kaleb. He restrained himself from asking why the Pharisee had made no reference to peace in his sermon, when that seemed to be the whole point of the scripture he had read.

“Peace is the fruit of justice,” Kaleb mused.

Amram belched.

“If we move against the heathens, and move now, God will honor our commitment and come to our aid.” The Pharisee’s words hit Yeshua with the force of a sledgehammer. The Egyptian was well accustomed to fierce rabbinical arguments over the finer points of Scripture, over the interpretation of Psalms, and the application of Jewish Law. But those debates had taken place amongst privileged Jews, in the comfort of multi-cultural Alexandria. This present exchange of views was not for the sake of better understanding, nor of winning a debate. It was not taking place amongst wealthy scholars, nor in a political backwater. This was a scriptural debate in an oppressed land, amongst aggrieved rebels with violent intent. The Egyptian knew plenty about the text, but nothing of the present context. Who knew where such a debate might lead? He held his tongue.

“Kaleb moved against the heathens this morning, and God came to his aid. It’s happening under our noses,” Yudah declared.

Neither Yeshua nor Theudas were able to make much sense of what Kaleb might be suggesting, nor of what might be proposed if the conversation continued. Kaleb clearly had a definite set of plans in mind, and seemed to be withholding them while he tested the water to see if the Egyptians would support him. Yeshua’s deep uneasiness was impossible to hide, and he hoped that their obvious reluctance to consent to any further violence would be enough to show that they would not be suitable recruits for Kaleb’s scheme, whatever it was.

“No one’s going to stop you leaving.” Kaleb’s sympathetic warmth displaced his debating-frown, and began to lighten the atmosphere. “But you must leave in the knowledge of what you’ve started here. We have to live the consequences of your vengeance!”

“In that case, we thank you for all the kindness you have shown to us . . . kindness we do not deserve . . . and we’re sorry for any trouble we’ve caused, but we must leave in the morning.” Yeshua’s resolve was intended to appear insurmountable.

Theudas took his brother by the arm and addressed him quietly. “Are you sure about this? We’ll never get past the cavalry without being caught.”

“Then we’ll just have to be careful.”

Yudah eyed the archer and the Pharisee before warning the brothers. “If you leave at dawn and stay off the road there might be a small chance of you making it out.”

Amram said nothing, but his carefully placed snigger was articulate. He knew well enough about how soldiers worked, and did not need to spell this out to the brothers. Yeshua, however, would not be persuaded to stay.

“Kaleb, say something scriptural!” Yudah commanded, ever trying to keep a light atmosphere.

“Shalom!” said Kaleb, “I hope to see you again soon,” he nodded with apparent foreknowledge.

Singing seabirds entered so conspicuously into Yeshua’s dream that they carried him rudely out of it. He sat up in bed as the voice of Yudah echoed along the corridor. “Boys, hope you’re fully rested.”

The brothers left Yudah’s home with his best wishes and ample food and water to see them through the remaining two days’ journey south to the Mediterranean port of Joppa. The northern wall of Narbata formed a boundary of Yudah’s property, and the brothers lowered themselves carefully down the rope that brought their feet into contact with the dusty earth. They bowed their heads in gratitude towards Yudah, who saluted them from the town wall. Within seconds they had disappeared from his sight, into the bumpy terrain that stretched towards the north and east.

The early morning landscape was enlivened by the nighttime humidity that still clung to the ground. “So, you think we’ll make it to Joppa?” asked Theudas.

“Who knows, but if we’d stayed around those guys long enough we certainly wouldn’t have.”

The brothers pushed south for half an hour, deliberately staying off the main track towards the town of Aphek so as to avoid any attention from the town’s sentries. As they sank further into the wilderness, they appeared to be borne hopelessly along with the tide of circumstance. The small, steep hills and dips of the landscape became a hostile ocean, as though the waves of a stormy sea had solidified into rocky mounds coated in sand. The young girl’s screams echoed through Yeshua’s mind as he walked, and he tried to expel them by whispering to himself the number of steps he took to climb each rise.

Half an hour’s hurried march had carried the brothers less than a mile south and left them panting for breath. They joined the main road before the shadow of the mountains had retreated eastwards across it. The relative ease of the road made their journey infinitely more agreeable. As their nerves began to settle and their breathing became lighter, they resumed their conversation.

Theudas was relieved at having escaped Narbata, but for the first time voiced his anxiety about making it to Joppa. “Have you worked out how we’re going to get into Aphek yet if it’s guarded?” he asked, with no expectation of a worthy reply.

“No. But we can’t let ourselves be drawn any further into this. You saw what kind of people these were. I don’t know if you were aware of the danger we were in.”

“Well, we’re certainly in danger now.”

“At least we’re free to deal with our own problems. At Yudah’s we would have found ourselves sucked into something beyond our control.”

“Yeshua! This whole thing is beyond our control.” Yeshua offered an expression that conceded the point. “We had no idea what we were starting when we came here. And Yudah was right. We didn’t think it . . .”Noise from the road behind silenced the brothers. A bottomless pit opened up in the depths of Yeshua’s stomach. The brothers turned to see two armor-clad horsemen followed by a small dust cloud. The Greek command could be heard clearly enough as it thundered across the four hundred paces that stretched out between them. “Wait!”

“I think it’s time to run,” said Theudas as the brothers walked backwards with increasing speed towards the cover offered by the hills. Dropping their packs at the foot of a nearby palm tree, they broke into as much of a sprint as the bumpy terrain would allow. They scrambled up the first sand hill in full sight of their pursuers, sliding down the other side to leave a column of dust confirming their position. Ahead of them, the hills only got taller and they realized that they were not going to outrun the cavalrymen unless the terrain forced them to dismount.

The sound of beating hoof was closing in at an alarming rate. Yeshua pointed towards the route where they would be unable to follow. A near impossible climb for the brothers would bring them again within full view of the soldiers. As they neared the top, Yeshua glanced behind him. As he had planned, the soldiers had dismounted and were now continuing the chase on foot. They were a good twenty seconds behind and nicely laden with armor and sword. He and Theudas disappeared over the second ridge. Now that the horses had been abandoned, they made for the shallowest route through the rocky ocean.

Yeshua gestured left and so the brothers doubled back, racing through the deep hollows between the tiny hills. Staying out of sight also kept the soldiers out of theirs, but the Egyptians took the absence of sound as a good sign. A mere three minutes of running through these foothills had left the brothers battling for breath. Having climbed a ridge facing back towards the road, they tried to conceal themselves in the long, thin grass and locate the soldiers. Nothing.

Looking south, the ground flattened into a patch of greenery that crowded around a small stream. The priceless cover of trees was a hundred paces away, just a few seconds of sprinting. The brothers remained motionless. They heard no sound above their own heavy breathing. Had the soldiers given up the chase? Surely they could not have escaped so easily. From the top of their hill they expected to see the cavalrymen come into view at any moment. Yeshua’s breath returned, but the fearful pounding in his ears remained. The brothers lay quietly, scanning all directions. The soldiers could have given up the chase and returned to the road, or they could be within fifty paces. They waited.

Theudas gestured towards the open ground ahead of them with a face that wore a question. The brothers looked towards the trees, then back at each other with an unexpected grin, scanned the horizon again for soldiers and rising dust, nodded at each other and moved. But as they slid down the steep slope, they fell helplessly towards and in full view of the approaching cavalrymen.

The soldiers had returned to their horses and emerged from the small ravine on the brothers’ left, fuelled now with arrogant superiority. The horses trotted forward with ease to arrive at the foot of this hill at the same moment that the brothers ground to a halt on their backsides.

“Good morning,” said Theudas, reclining on his elbows in the midst of a sandy haze, looking up at the soldiers with a defiant smile.

“Not for you,” came the soldier’s reply as he drew his sword and prepared to dismount. That heart-stopping metallic chime had lost none of its terror for the brothers, but Yeshua’s heart had ceased pounding. So this is how it was destined to end, he thought. Death at the hands of Roman cavalry, who finally would have taken seven lives in return for only two troops assassinated in Caesarea. He felt for his dagger. The slim chance of fighting his way out consumed him. He did his best to look compliant to the soldier, whose superiority remained unquestionable.

The arrest was interrupted by the sound of a loud hammer blow, the dull thud of metal striking metal. The soldier’s arrogant air was displaced by a look of sheer confusion, as he leaned forward involuntarily. What was that noise? What had robbed the soldier of his superiority? Within two heartbeats there was another blow, again the identical sound of a heavy, muffled metallic strike. This time it was followed immediately by a deep but distant belch from the western ridge. The second soldier fell from his horse, a long wooden shaft protruding from his back. A third metallic thud struck his hunched-over companion from the saddle to join him on the ground. Again, a belch echoed from the western ridge.