Читать книгу All Who Came Before - Simon Perry - Страница 9

Amram hurried down from the ridge. Still amused by the audacity of Theudas, he looked him in the eye, “Good morning?” he laughed. “Best you boys make for that there hill while I clear up this little mess.” He did not wait for the brothers’ consent before setting about his fallen victims as though it were his daily routine. On seeing that one of them was not dead he adopted a more serious tone. “Go!” he growled, nodding again towards the hill. The brothers, still stunned, complied without word.

The Egyptians hurried away in silence until Theudas could contain himself no longer. “Do you think tomorrow we might make it as far as breakfast before killing any soldiers?”

Yeshua sighed and shook his head. “It looks like we might be spending the autumn here in Judea after all.”

“Amram must have been following us all the way from Yudah’s house!” said Theudas, before succumbing to the gravity of his own observation.

Yeshua shook his head as the realities began to sink in. “They all knew this was going to happen! They let us go, knowing this would happen.” The brothers both glanced back at Amram. No wonder he knew what he was doing, he had probably been planning his attack all night. “What was I thinking? I just wanted to get us home.” He stopped near the top of the appointed hill and turned his head towards the sea. A full day and night had not granted them much distance from the coast. “Maybe we should try to get back through Caesarea. We could be on a boat by this afternoon.”

“Yeshua. We’ve tried the safest option and look what happened. We’re not going anywhere.”

“I don’t like this,” said Yeshua with a grim determination to do something if only he could think of what that something might be. “We’re as captive to our allies as we are to our enemies.” He paused for a moment to gather breath as the climb continued. “I’m not sure who’s toying with us more. The sooner we can get away from all of them the better.”

“But that’s just it!” Theudas argued. “We are trapped. Like you say, by our friends as much as our enemies.” He looked over at his brother. “And for now I know who’d I’d rather be with.”

Yeshua exhaled slowly and turned to carry on up the hill. On reaching the top the Egyptians sat together, looking out towards the coast. “Look at that.” Theudas pointed down across the plain towards Caesarea. “Not a single ship has left the port. We’re stuck here.”

“We’re not stuck! We can see the coast, and walk to it from here. We don’t have to climb walls or dig tunnels. It’s there. We can walk straight . . .”

“But every soldier between here and there is looking for us!” Theudas grabbed his brother’s arm. “Looking for you and me, brother. And there are thousands of them.”

“But look at the area they have to cover. We could go north and board a vessel to take us to Joppa. They’d have to be extremely lucky to get anywhere near us.”

“So how lucky were they this morning, when they found us within an hour of us trying to leave?”

“We’ll just have to stay off the road. It’ll take us longer but we could do it. Why not? If we just leave now?”

“I know you just want to get home. And I know why. But if you were in your right state of mind you wouldn’t be suggesting this.” Theudas took his brother’s silence as a sign that he was beginning to accept their fate. “When I think of how carefully you wanted to plan our attack in Caesarea, what you’re suggesting now sounds like insanity. It’s not the same person speaking.”

Visibly, energetically, silently, Yeshua cursed at the situation in which the brothers now found themselves. Theudas was right. The attack had been planned so carefully, but their escape? It could hardly have been planned.

“Until yesterday you were in control of this quest. Today this quest is controlling us. Be patient, for our father’s sake! Patience is now our safest route home.”

“I don’t want to be sucked into some hair-brained, half-thought-out, anger-fuelled gang of rebels,” he said. “You heard Miriam. If we’re patient, we’ll find ourselves caught up in something we’ll never escape.”

“You don’t know that for sure,” Theudas remarked. “Amram has just saved our lives. As far as I’m concerned that’s good news. Now, our journey here has made us dependent on other people, whether we like it or not. And of all the people to choose, Yudah is a lifelong friend and Amram has saved our lives.”

“And followed us, knowing that we were walking into a death trap,” said Yeshua, still amazed that his brother had not seen this. “Whatever they might be to us, they have not been honest with us. They are toying with us.”

“No. I’m sorry,” Theudas argued, “they tried to talk us out of running away, and it’s you that wouldn’t listen to them.”

Offering wisdom was far preferable to Yeshua than receiving it. Nor was he accustomed to receiving it from his younger brother. Unable to concede verbally that his brother might be right, he allowed his silence to do the job, before eventually turning to Theudas and nodding.

“Strangers in a strange land,” said Yeshua. “Not really the kind of thing a son of Abraham would say when in Israel!” The brothers smiled and lay back on the crest of the hill, wondering what kind of eruption was building below them. Whatever fate was to befall them, Yeshua was beginning to accept that for now it was beyond his control. As he stared up into a sky as empty as his future and his thoughts, he closed his eyes and attempted to escape into sleep.

Images of yesterday’s victims flashed across Yeshua’s consciousness, joined by the horsemen whose victims they had so nearly become. The cold rhetoric of Kaleb’s oration combined with the warm embrace of Yudah’s greetings. The screams of a grief-stricken peasant girl merged with the tears of the boy represented by the figurine. The gaunt image of Amram appeared in his mind, whilst not bringing enough comfort to free his troubled mind, it nevertheless released him from the traumas of the Egyptian’s full consciousness. The voices in his head overcame other sounds around him, but weaving its way through the succession of pictures that formed the beginnings of a dream, was a single, disturbing constant. A snake, that now paused and recoiled, was ready to bite. The Egyptian was saved from the serpent’s attack only by the most unexpectedly welcoming belch as it thundered like a volcano from below. Yeshua sat up from his brief dream to hear his brother’s voice.

“Ah, the sweet sound of our salvation,” said Theudas as he scrambled to his feet. Yeshua followed his brother downhill before his consciousness had fully returned.

The three assassins met at the foot of the slope, along with two horses, a large bundle, and the brothers’ belongings.

“Can you boys ride?”

“We can ride donkeys,” Yeshua suggested in reply.

“Do you know what the Parthians call these creatures?” asked Amram, as he threw a blanket over one of the horses.

“Er, Horses?” asked Theudas.

Amram over-pronounced each syllable of his answer. “Mountain donkeys,” he declared. “And we’re off to the mountains now, so best you make the most of your first lesson.”

Theudas addressed Amram, “Yeshua. Do you get the feeling Amram could see this coming and just didn’t say anything?”

“Some people just won’t be told,” said Amram with a grin.

“Where are we off to then?” asked Yeshua, struggling to sound indifferent.

“Somewhere safe,” was not a deeply reassuring reply. “We’re going into the hills that border Galilee. It’ll give you boys some time to adjust to reality.”

“And who else is going to be there?”

Amram returned to a few moments of belching before responding. “Oh, one or two familiar faces, a couple of strange faces, and if the Pharisee turns up then you’ll have someone who’s both familiar and strange.”

Amram’s clear fondness of the brothers was priceless for Yeshua. Given the events of that had brought them to their current position, he could still not bring himself to trust the archer properly. But any other brigand friends of Yudah they would come to meet in the hills would be unlikely to match Amram’s abilities and experience, and the respect these things commanded. To have him on side reassured Yeshua that they need not expect death at the hands of hill-dwelling bandits. Still, the recollection of the look upon Amram’s face as he dealt with the fallen soldiers was enough to prevent the brothers from asking him about what he had done to the survivor. There was a seriousness about Amram’s character that neither of the brothers nor even Amram himself were keen to access. But Yeshua was compelled to press questions about their fate. “What’s the plan?” he asked.

“The plan?” laughed Amram. “There are as many plans as there are people. This whole thing would be much easier if there was such a thing as the plan. At the moment, everyone has his own plan. And none of them are likely to work.”

“Does Kaleb have a plan that might work?” Yeshua inquired, before voicing his disapproval of the Pharisee, “Apart from stirring up violence using scriptures that cry for peace?”

Amram’s appreciation of the comment could be heard through his dutiful counter to it. “The Pharisee’s charm doesn’t work on you does it! But look at what happened yesterday . . . Who knows . . . he might be right.”

“About what?”

The question seemed to have dragged Amram from some kind of slumber. He looked the brothers in the eye and sighed. “Kaleb’s convinced that we should be able to gather enough people to get rid of the Romans from Jerusalem. They only have a couple of thousand soldiers in the entire province. Technically he’s right. If all the tribes of Abraham unite . . .

“What?” Theudas laughed.

“He’s convinced that he’s got God on side, and that a resistance movement will snowball as it approaches the capital.”

“When was the last time there were snowballs in Jerusalem?” asked Theudas with a frown almost identical to Kaleb’s, although on the face of the merchant it suggested a lack rather than an excess of certainty.

“It’s his plan, not mine. But I tell you what, boys. That man’s faith is so strong you could eat your dinner off it.” Amram’s tone suggested that he did not share Kaleb’s faith.

“It’s true. You can’t question his faith or his commitment . . .” said Yeshua, before Theudas interrupted.

“Only his sanity,” he said, without his frown.

Yeshua shook his head and resumed. “No, he’s obviously a good man, he’s clever, he’s fine a preacher . . . It’s just a shame that he’s completely misguided. What kind of a plan is marching on Jerusalem? Will he carry a banner along the way—‘follow me to certain death’? What is driving that man? Does he have no family?”

“He has no father. Well, not in the usual sense.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The archer looked at the brothers, whose own exchange of glances evoked an expression on his face that suggested he’d said too much. “You should ask him about it when you see him.” He ended the conversation with a gutsy belch.

The companions climbed with the sun, the road becoming gradually steeper and dustier. “Gentlemen, we are now entering into the region of Galilee.” The Mediterranean glimmered behind them, but ahead the mix of greenery and sand blended into a hazy distance, when it became visible beyond the hills. As the small track joined with a larger road that followed the contour of the hill, Amram slowed to look carefully at the ground and without warning leapt from his horse. Stooping towards the gravel, he ran his finger around the shape of a hoof mark.

“There shouldn’t be this many mountain donkeys in these hills,” Amram muttered as he gestured the brothers to dismount. Moving toward them his voice was lowered. “These are cavalry tracks.” The Egyptian’s heart began to pound as Amram continued. “And I can think of only one reason why they’d be up here.” He handed the brothers their packs, bundled his own together and hurried off the road and up the hill, bow in hand. The brothers obeyed the unspoken command to follow, not daring to ask what this one reason might be.

Five minutes brought them to the crown, affording them a clear view of the road that wound before them. “We’re not far from the house of Eliazar, but we can’t see it from here.” Amram was too distracted by circumstances to explain to the brothers what was happening.

“Is that where we were heading?”

“It was, and it looks as though someone has beaten us to it.”

“How did they know we we’d be coming?” Yeshua asked, before realizing how many times he had been outwitted by the Roman response to his actions. Amram looked at Yeshua and confirmed these thoughts using nothing other than his tooth-deprived expression.

The companions crept down the far side of the hill, staying out of sight of the road. But from that road came the sound of voices and horses. Amram paused to scan the hilltops around them. Sweat was dripping from Yeshua’s nose, either from scrambling up another hill, the heat of the high sun, or the fear that had seized his limbs. As the companions reached the crest of this hill their worst fears were confirmed. About a hundred feet below them stood half a dozen cavalrymen. Had the assassins stayed on the road they would have walked straight into them. The cover of the hill’s rocks and bushes made it easy enough to follow the track from above and remain undetected.

The sound of Greek conversation and laughter kept the Egyptians’ pulses high. Amram’s movement was that of a cat stalking its prey. His head staying low and level, his limbs carrying him swiftly and softly across steep, sandy terrain as though he were creeping across Yudah’s garden to refill his cup. The belching had ceased.

Amram, Yeshua, and Theudas skirted to the north of the third hill, half expecting to be spotted at any moment. They slowed as the road snaked back into view. Again, the archer scanned the hills that surrounded them. Again Greek chatter could be heard nearby. The companions sank to the ground and crawled through stringy grass to observe the soldiers. A further six horses came into view, three of them with mounted riders. Yeshua’s eyes attached themselves to the cavalrymen’s swords. The blades seemed to know more than the soldiers who wielded them about the whereabouts of the outlaws. He’d seen these swords a thousand times. He even carried one upon him now. But the Roman short sword looked like a different weapon when hung about a soldier charged with burying that weapon in your gut. With this recognition, Yeshua’s status as an outlaw began to take root in him.

The soldiers were situated outside a small house of pale stone, barely visible against the hill’s own stone of identical color. “Eliazar’s house?” asked Yeshua.

“Yeh, but they won’t have got him,” whispered Amram with little apparent concern.

“Er—how are you so sure?” Theudas asked.

“Because . . .” Amram sung the first word, suggesting that what followed should be obvious, “. . . Eliazar is a shepherd. He’s spent his life listening out for predators. And there are few predators that make as much noise on their approach as an armor-clad pagan on a mountain donkey.” Amram was still entranced by the commotion at the shepherd’s house. “The plan now is to head as far east as we can. It won’t be long before they find our horses.” He turned to check on the brothers’ nerves. His face looked weighed down by their fear as he reached through their packs and produced their swords. “Have them ready to hand, just in case.” Amram’s obvious concern brought home to the brothers the sheer danger they were in. And yet, for such an unlikely figure he radiated remarkable assuredness. His dark hair was soon to be colonized by grey, which had already established an outpost on his rough-shaven face. The gap of a missing front tooth as he grinned, which yesterday gave him a threatening look, was now part of the reassuring demeanor.

“Boys,” he said, with a father’s tenderness. “Stay alert . . . Stay calm.” Yeshua’s whole body was energized by the shiver that came from somewhere beyond him, swept through him, and left, taking with it the fear that could so easily have crippled him. “No safe path to victory,” said Amram.

That’s my line, thought Yeshua momentarily, before making the connection with the old soldier and his war tales. This was a phrase that the Seventeenth Legion came to treasure, as slowly its numbers were ground to zero at the hands of Germanic tribes ambushing them en route. But the Seventeenth Legion all those years ago had never made it to a battlefield, and any who might have survived would be familiar enough with guerrilla warfare. Amram must have known what it was to be hunted through alien territory.

The terrain was their ally as the assassins made silently towards the mounting hills of the East. The Romans were obviously expecting the companions, and by now would have found the abandoned horses. Within half a mile of them a company of soldiers was on the hunt, although once again, they would not be on horseback. Amram froze, forcing the brothers to do likewise. They followed his eyes to the top of a nearby hill as the archer’s right hand felt for an arrow from his pack and placed it upon his bow. The brothers could see nothing. Amram began to strain the bow, and still the brothers could not see his target. Then he loosed. The sound of a distant body hitting the ground was heard before the Egyptians had laid an eye on the arrow’s victim. Looking back at Amram they saw that another arrow sat upon his bowstring, as silently they followed him around to the eastern side of the hill.

“Stay here,” the archer whispered, as he climbed towards his fallen prey. He was out of sight for only a few seconds, and returned to the brothers as silently and effortlessly as he had left them. The archer said nothing as he pushed further towards the east in the knowledge that the Egyptians would stay close and quiet.

Amram seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where he was going. The brothers continued to scan every ridge and slope, in front and behind, in case Amram’s all-seeing eye might fail. As unlikely as that might have seemed, they hardly assumed any favor, either with God or with luck.

The sun was no ally to the companions on this day, but neither would it offer its allegiance to those from whom they fled. Their pace felt cumbersome, slowed by the tireless heat from above and the unforgiving terrain underfoot. Here the highlands of Judea ran from the northwest to the southeast. These hills alone witnessed three assassins, scrambling across naked rock and wiry grass. The western climbs of the ridges were steep, hot, and painfully slow, but the eastern descents often brought some shade and a return of strength. Increasingly, these slopes were ploughed with gullies, steep ravines, and the welcome sound of gushing waters. During this endless flight from cavalry there was no Egyptian protest at the relentless pace that saw the archer striding uphill, pressing his arms onto his knees as they rose before him and then running down the gentler slopes with a lightness that did not sort well with his age or apparent state of health.

“Look at that,” the archer laughed, drawing the brothers’ attention to an eagle that circled above them. The glorious sight brought no comfort. Yeshua’s exhaustion and paranoia had expelled all reason, and he feared that the eagle might somehow report their whereabouts to the cavalrymen.

Early afternoon had brought them beyond the highest ridge, and the Mediterranean glimmer sank from view. Two hours of progress brought neither sight nor sound of human life, and as the companions descended towards the Jordan valley their pace slowed and their spirits lightened. “You can put those away now,” said Amram as he looked at their blades. He did the same with his bow. The brothers stopped under the shade of a palm tree to do as they were told. “You two ready for food?”

“We’re Jews!” Theudas grinned. And so the assassins sat in the cool shade of a hot day, drank, and ate. Carrying nothing but fruit, bread and water it was hardly a lavish meal. But after such a pursuit, the satisfaction the brief rest brought was immeasurable.

“Well, I don’t suppose you were expecting to have your lunch in Galilee when you got up this morning.”

“Where are we going, Amram?” asked Yeshua.

“Arbela,” he replied, pointing eastwards down towards the bright glare of the Galilean Sea. Beautiful green hills clothed with fruit trees stretched their way along the distance of around ten miles. A road winding just a few hundred feet below led almost directly to the place to which Amram had pointed.

“I wish we still had those mountain donkeys,” said Theudas.

“We’ll still be there in time for our next meal.”

“Arbela?” Yeshua was groping through his memory. “Do you mean the caves?” He had heard from his father stories of battles between Herod the Great and a group of religious fanatics up in the “caves of Arbela.” It was renowned as a hideout for bandits.

Amram relished over-pronouncing his shameless replies. “A veritable den of robbers!” His words fell, followed by a grin and a well-earned belch. “Safe, secure, cool. Good company, and a beautiful sea view.”

“We are going to a robbers’ cave!” said Yeshua, still trying to absorb Amram’s intent. The idea of being a bandit was still struggling to sink its roots into the wealthy Egyptian merchant son of a rabbi. That rabbi’s other son reminded Yeshua of the reality.

“Well, you’re carrying a purse, I’m carrying a purse, and . . .”

Another over-pronounced declaration intervened, “I’m carrying three!”

“. . . and none of it’s ours” Theudas continued. “Yeshua! We’re all carrying the cash of people we’ve killed and who still haven’t been buried.”

“Thieving murderous scum,” was Amram’s deliberate pronouncement, as though he were about to commence a stoning.

“All I wanted was justice,” said Yeshua, devoid of humor.

“If that’s what you’re after you’ve come to the wrong place,” said Amram. “You can’t be on the side of justice without being a thief. At least, that’s what Kaleb says. I, on the other hand, take comfort from the fact that not every thief is on the side of justice.”

“Amram. How do those Romans seem to know so much about what we’re doing?”

The archer made a visible effort to answer with patience. “What would you do, if you were in charge of an occupying army in a hostile land?”

“I wouldn’t be in charge of that army unless I knew what to do.”

The old soldier rolled his eyes, shook his head and looked at the younger brother. “Theudas, what would you do?” Theudas began to smirk as he drew breath, so Amram rolled his eyes again to caution the Egyptian, “. . . apart from wishing the troops a good morning?”

“I suppose I’d have spies,” he stated without a trace of authority, inviting more exasperation. “Er . . . lots of spies.” He mimicked the archer by over emphasizing every syllable that followed: “A veritable army of spies,” he smiled, as his forehead struggled to contain his inflated eyes.

“Roman eyes are everywhere,” Amram lamented. “Watching, waiting, guessing. They see an awful lot.” The brothers looked worried, so the archer continued with a grin. “But they don’t see everything,” he laughed, shaking the coins in his Roman purses. His laughter was interrupted by a belch, which brought Amram’s comforting thoughts to a satisfactory conclusion, and he clambered to his feet. “Time to press on, boys.”

Within a minute the three travelers were finding their way towards the main route that links the Sea of Galilee with the west of Galilee. Here and there little villages were dotted, and the companions stopped briefly in the late afternoon to replenish their food and water.

The green hills and lush valleys offered Yeshua little in the way of welcome. He was not the kind of person that would fall in with a gang of thieves. “What kind of people are we going to meet this afternoon Amram?” Yeshua had horrible pictures of club-wielding primitive creatures making their living by inflicting terror upon innocent travelers and traders.

“You’re one of them! They are people, people just like you.”

“Thieving murderous scum,” said Theudas through a smile, winning a glare from his elder brother, but some appreciation from the archer. Amram soon exorcised his grin and expressed a fear sufficient to silence the brothers:

“The real worry about those caves is not who’s there but who isn’t. I’m worried that not everyone from Narbata will make it.”