Rebekah's Treasure (34 page)

“Then understand this,” Aaron says, suddenly coming up from behind and staring fiercely at Demas, “though we’ll be dressing like rich, soft fools on this journey, we are far from soft or foolish. Four years of fighting in Jerusalem have hardened us. I can kill a man with one flick of my dagger. And I would do it in an instant if I thought he was plotting any treachery against me or my family.”

Oh, my Aaron. I want to enfold him in my arms and hold him there until every memory of killing has faded from him. But it would take a lifetime of holding, and he is a man, and such a thing would be unthinkable, so instead I ask
Hashem
to hold him.

Our trip is a blur of dusty roads, sore haunches and backs, sun baked bodies, the odor of unwashed men, groaning camels, cursing camel drivers, and sleepless nights ripe with thoughts of Rebekah.

Does she love another?
My mind can hardly comprehend it. Sweet Rebekah, wife of my youth. Still young and beautiful to me. Oh, yes, beautiful. And how she loved me! Once. She loved me once. I’ve never played the coward, but I feel cowardly now. If
Hashem
is kind and allows me to find her, how will I bear it if she spurns me? If she no longer wants me? Fear invades my being, me the general who has fought fiercely in a hundred battles. What has come over me? It must be age. I’m beginning to feel old. Even so, didn’t I have to fight for Rebekah once? After Josiah’s father initiated the
shiddukhin
, the match, between Rebekah and his son? Didn’t I fight them all? Even my own father who had already picked out a young maiden from Jericho for me? Someone I had never seen but who came from a wealthy priestly family? Yes, I fought them all because I
loved
her. And because she
loved
me. And I knew of her love because my wild, sweet, matchless Rebekah had defied custom and whispered it in my ear one starry night when we sat together on the narrow steps outside her upper room. It was this love of hers that made me brave and persistent in the face of both family opposition and the pressure of a tradition dating back centuries—the tradition that the father of the groom picks the bride.

But can I fight for her now, not knowing if she still loves me? The ache in my heart tells me I can do no other. I picture her now as she looked that night on the outer steps, so young, hardly fifteen, and so beautiful. And how she laughed when I told her my father was away in Jericho initiating a match for me. And how her hair shimmered in the moonlight as she bent closer to me, smelling of lavender and telling me such a thing could never happen. And when I asked “why,” she simply said, without hesitation and with a hint of merriment in her voice, “because
I
love you!”

Oh, Rebekah. Is it possible you now love another?

“Make way! Make way!” Demas shouts, walking beside his camel, and leading it and two others laden with goods through the crowded north gate of Caesarea. As he goes, he pushes aside other travelers who lead their own camels. A dog with matted fur and flies buzzing around his eyes nips at Demas’s heels. And behind Demas and the three camels and the yapping dog come my sons and I, riding atop our beasts like we were the three magi. We’re perfumed and decked in our finest cloaks, and we all wear gold chains and rings.

Benjamin appears to enjoy the charade. I suppose because we have no choice but to disguise ourselves and he’s simply making the best of it. He nods his head condescendingly at those who stare up at him in awe from the street. Aaron, on the other hand, appears embarrassed and hardly lifts his eyes.

And I? I scout the lay of the land, looking for hidden dangers, measuring the people, searching for potential snares. My vigilance ends when I realize we’re in the Jewish Quarter. Then I remember we’re masquerading as Syrians and must appear to be contemptuous of the poor Jews around us. It’s difficult, for I feel only love and compassion. When I recall how Titus’s Syrian auxiliary gutted fleeing Jewish refugees for the gold they believed they had swallowed I’m able to produce the desired contempt, but it’s for the Syrians.

An old Jew carrying a talith scurries past, obviously on his way to the partially rebuilt synagogue. I picture him drawing the fringed cloth over his head and shoulders, then stooping and swaying in prayer. What will he pray for, I wonder? From what I’ve seen so far, there’s much need here.

Two children run in front of my camel, laughing and chasing a small spinning clay disk, and in spite of myself, I smile. It’s good to see such abandonment, such carefree joy. It’s been a long time since I’ve heard the laughter of children.

Our gaudy little caravan travels south through the streets of Caesarea, and in no time exits the Jewish Quarter. Now, columns of pink Aswan granite line the paved streets. The houses are larger, too; and silks and expensive wools, rather than homespun, clothe the people. All the buildings look white, being made of either limestone or marble, and gleam in the sun. It’s a grand city, this Caesarea; a city of fountains and statues, vaulted warehouses and temples, and cook shops oozing with aromas of roasting meats. Even Benjamin is impressed. Aaron hardly looks.

Demas points west to a massive columned building which can be seen even from our vantage point several streets away. “The Temple of Augustus. See how it towers above all else? Use it as a guide and you’ll not get lost.” He looks at me and chuckles. “Herod always knew how to curry favor with the powerful. He made certain his tribute to Caesar would stand out among the other structures in the city by building it on a raised platform.”

“Are we going there now?” I ask, seeing Demas turn in the direction of the temple and feeling disquieted.

“No, to the market place and docks beyond. Both are excellent places to gather information. I’ll seek news about Titus and his captives there.”

What would we have done without Demas? I see
Hashem’s
hand in this for Demas is the only one who has ever been to Caesarea, and being a Greek he’ll know just how to glean information here. I glance at Aaron. For the first time since leaving Pella I see no rancor on his face. Perhaps he’s come to appreciate Demas, too.

When we pass the square near the idolatrous temple of Augustus Caesar and enter the teeming market place, Demas instructs us to stay with the camels while he makes inquires. Then he disappears into the crowd. An hour later he returns, proving his worth yet again.

“I’ve secured a house. I learned of a man who is fond of gambling and whose luck has not been good lately. He needs money to pay his creditors and is willing to rent to us.”

“Well done,” I say. And to my surprise even Aaron mumbles his praise. “And Titus? What of him?”

Demas strokes his clean shaven chin and studies me. “He and his men and the Jerusalem captives are camped just outside the southern wall of the city. The paymaster has told the slave dealers to assemble tomorrow.” He shakes his head when he sees my excitement. “Steady, Ethan. Remember, Titus has lost many captives along the way. Thousands have been purchased by those slave dealers who make it their practice to follow the army and buy up the best of the lot. The remaining prisoners have been culled even further: some to the arenas, some through starvation and the rigors of the journey, others by their own hand.”

Demas grips my shoulder when he sees the look on my face. “Yes, it is so. Many unwilling to face their unhappy future take their own lives. I’ve seen it so often. But those who are left will be put up for sale tomorrow.” He looks at me and sighs. “You must understand that it will be a miracle if your daughter is among them.”

The gentle trickling of the large marble fountain is a restful backdrop to my prayers. So is the peaceful atrium. I’ve been praying here for hours, waiting for the sun to rise. Who can sleep? Not even my pleasant shuttered quarters with its array of colored silk pillows, and couch of imported swan’s down could stop my mind from twisting and turning. Would I find Esther? Has she been sold? Is she dead? And Rebekah?
What if . . .
.

Even now my mind buzzes like a hive of bees. And I have no answers, only more tormenting questions. I’ve tried losing myself in prayer, and found a measure of peace. It’s from this womb I now pull myself.

Through the open roof of the atrium come the first pale streaks of daybreak. Rising from my seat built against the low stone wall, I walk across the polished marble floor to the shallow fountain pool. Bending, I wet my hands, then splash my face to freshen my eyes.

I’m fully dressed and wearing my splendid gold-embroidered cloak. Aaron says we look like peacocks in these Syrian garments, and he says it with great disdain. I allow him his grumblings, for I know he too carries the same fears for his sister and mother that I do. My heart has grown even more tender towards him for he looks like a boy with his shaven face. We are all clean shaven now. We scraped away our beards when we first began this charade. I miss mine. Will Esther recognize me? Will Rebekah?

The house is quiet, and I assume everyone is still asleep. So when I rise from the pool I’m surprised to see Aaron standing beside one of the nearby marble columns. He, too, is dressed for the day.

“Father,” he says, in a steady voice. Though he’s boyishly handsome in his elegant flowing cloak and fine silk
kaffia
, his voice is the voice of a man. “Whatever happens today, you must accept it as the will of God.”

I nod, trying to appear calm. But inside, my heart flogs itself against my chest, and my dry mouth resumes its silent prayers.

The smell of vomit, human waste and filthy bodies fills the air, alerting me that the captives are being assembled somewhere nearby. Legionaries stroll among us. Some keep order. Others look as if they’re waiting to claim, when the slave dealers are finished, their gift from Titus—two or three captives apiece. A dozen slave dealers and their minions have gathered, and stand in clusters, laughing and talking. A few of the more enterprising are craning their necks to glimpse the flesh about to be peddled.

Demas has his orders. He’s to purchase up to a thousand males and another thousand females. I can afford five times that many, but how can we get them all safely to Masada? The care and feeding of that amount would be an impossible task so I must restrain myself. It has
already been announced that the males are to be sold first. This will delay finding Esther, and I have difficulty remaining patient. I glance around anxiously.