Rebekah's Treasure (42 page)

That jackal, Titus, has begun gladiatorial games in the amphitheater, forcing many of the unsold captives into the arena to be slaughtered for sport. He claims it is in honor of his brother Domitian’s birthday. They say so far two thousand captives have been killed in the games. The city has gone mad for blood. It’s too dangerous to stay. Soldiers and even citizens swarm the streets looking for sport, and for trouble. I fear they’ll find both if they meet up with Aaron or Benjamin.

And we’ve been here too long as it is. Some of the slave dealers have begun whispering, wondering among themselves why such wealthy Syrians stay; wondering why such an expert slaver as Demas stays. Do we know something they don’t? Have we heard some news they haven’t? Others have begun asking Demas outright why we’re still here. After all, hasn’t all the good flesh been purchased? Even the lowest, most disreputable of the slavers have begun leaving. But can we tell them we are still hoping to find Esther? Or that the longer our captives rest, the more likely they will survive the harsh journey to Masada?

Even so, we have done more than just search for Esther. Demas has discharged the
quaestor’s
slaves. And my sons have been busy organizing our captives according to their home towns, then dividing them into groups of fifty with a captain over each group. Only the captains know
of our true plans, plans to either free the captives near their villages or take those who wish, on to Masada.

The captains also oversee the camp, which includes keeping order and seeing everyone is fed, as well as seeing that the sick are tended. This leaves Demas free to purchase camels, wagons, tunics, food, and all the other supplies needed to relocate our large entourage.

But in light of the current mood of the city, we can no longer delay the inevitable. My sons and I agree, in two days we must depart. By then, Demas will be finished making his purchases. Now all I have to do is tell Rebekah. I dread it for I know she’ll resist. She still holds out hope that Esther will be found. I, myself, have no such hope.

“I’m only glad the lictor killed Argos before we had to,” I say, dipping my bread into a bowl of lamb stew. “He was bent on making trouble.”

Benjamin, sitting on a nearby couch, chuckles. Demas only nods. But there’s something sad about Demas’s face, the way his eyebrows fold together, the way his eyes mist.

“It was his hatred for me. That’s what got the better of him. He just couldn’t let it go, couldn’t forgive me for forsaking Isis. I tried to explain. I even hoped that he, too, would follow Jesus some day, but . . . .” Demas’s voice trails off.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Judith says, her face soft as lamb’s wool. “I, too, have many friends who follow other gods. I talk to them, I pray for them, but in the end they must decide for themselves who they will serve.”

Judith’s large room erupts with conversation as her husband, Apollonios, voices his opinion. Then Zechariah, Judah, Hannah, and my sons, all take their turn. Only Rebekah is silent, and sits beside me nibbling a date cake and watching Apollonios and Judith eat fried, milkfed snails. They are the only ones who will eat them.

We are all lounging on couches around the grand table Judith has set for us. And for hours I’ve tried to lift Rebekah’s spirits, but failed.
I’m still remembering that look on her face when I told her we were leaving Caesarea, how it reminded me of someone hearing their loved one had just died. But she didn’t weep. I think it would have been better if she had.

“A fine feast you’ve set before us,” I say to Judith as I dip again into the stew. “I will remember it when I’m eating gruel on the highway.” Everyone laughs, except Rebekah.

“I couldn’t let you leave without us all coming together one last time.” There is a trace of sadness in Judith’s voice.

“You still plan on leaving tomorrow?” Hannah asks.

I avoid Rebekah’s eyes. “Yes, at first light.”

“I only wish you were coming Hannah,” Rebekah says, finally breaking her long silence. “When Titus has had his fill of blood in the amphitheatre, he’ll turn his attention to the descendants of King David. Already there’s talk . . . .”

“I’m too old. Could I survive such a journey, then begin all over again in a new place? I think not. My life is in God’s hands; my days measured out according to His good pleasure. But my son must go. We’ve been arguing about it for days. Tell him, Rebekah, that he must go.”

Rebekah places her unfinished cake on the table. “It’s the only sensible thing, Judah. Why stay in the center of Titus’s stronghold and put yourself in danger? The believers in Pella will hide you. You can begin a new life there. Perhaps Titus will not think to look for David’s descendants among the followers of the Way. It will certainly be safer than staying here.”

“Did you hear what she said, Judah?” Hannah says. “
Safer
. It will be safer. And if you won’t do it for your sake, then do it for Esther’s.”

Judah blushes. Everyone knows he and Esther—the wood carrier who has been staying in Hannah’s house and is, even now, convalescing there—have become fond of one another.

“Yes, it would be difficult for Esther if anything happens to me,” Judah says thoughtfully. “Where would she go? What would she do? Her entire family has perished. But I can’t think of that now. Esther is
still regaining her strength, as am I. Maybe in another week we’ll be fit to travel. Still . . . can a son leave his mother?”

“Jesus left his,” Zechariah says, fingering his wiry, gray beard. There’s a smile on his face, but his eyes are full of compassion as though feeling the young man’s struggle. “And while your mission is different from His, you still have one. Our land and people have been decimated. The ax has been laid to the tree. But can we allow our race to die? God forbid! No, we must plant new seeds. You, and others like you, must survive. You owe it to your tribe, your nation, to the land God has given you, to God Himself. You must ensure the future of Israel. You must produce fruit. You must have offspring.”

That man, bulbous and covered with gray hair, has such an effect on people. His few words seem to comfort Judah, while they agitate me. Why do I find him so offensive?

“I’ll pray about it,” Judah says, but I see by his mouth, the way it has softened, the way it no longer looks like a rigid, dead snake lying across his face, that in his mind’s eye he’s already on his way to Pella.

“I, too, will be going to Pella when I wish to visit my sister,” Judith says, leaning from her couch to ours, and taking Rebekah’s hand. “For now that I’ve found you, I’ll not lose you again. That is, if I’m welcome.”

“Always,” Rebekah says, squeezing Judith’s hand.

“No,” I say, without thinking. Now all eyes are on me. “What I mean is, we won’t be going to Pella. I . . . haven’t had a chance to tell Rebekah this but we’re heading for Masada.”

“
Masada?
” Rebekah’s jaw drops. And the look in her eyes! It’s as if some light has gone out, as if my words have snuffed out all those little candles of hope she’s been igniting these past several weeks; hope of us all being together—living normal lives. She shakes her head as she looks at me. “Even now . . . even after all this, after all we’ve gone through, you’ll not give up the fight?
Even now
?” she whispers. But I suspect, by the look on everyone’s face, they hear it too. And for the rest of the evening Rebekah doesn’t say another word.

I sit high atop my grazing camel. Next to me, Aaron and Benjamin straddle their own camel. The breeze blowing off the Mediterranean plays with our silk
kaffias
and embroidered robes that smell of jasmine. Light from the newly risen sun dances on the jewels around our necks and fingers. Behind us is a string of twenty camels loaded with goods. Behind them are eight wagons piled high, and hitched to oxen. And behind them, over eighteen hundred souls. Last of all is Demas, who pulls up the rear.

We have all stopped just outside the north gate. From between the trees I see the amphitheatre only several cubits away. In a few hours the roar of the crowd will be heard for miles as more captives are slaughtered for sport. We’ll be safely away by then.

I watch Rebekah, who stands nearby saying goodbye to that irritant, Zechariah. He has come unexpectedly. We all thought he was sailing for Ephesus this morning. For my part, I was disappointed to see him waiting outside the gate. I’m close enough to him to spot the tiny gray hairs protruding from his nostrils, and wonder if Rebekah finds him as repulsive as I do. But no, there she is smiling at him. Smiling! At me she hasn’t smiled since learning we head for Masada.

“Do you think you could bear parting with the cup?” Zechariah rubs his bulbous nose. “I would like to take it to John the Apostle. If you wish, I could bring it back to Pella in a year or two when I come for a visit, and leave it with Mary. This war with Rome must come to an end sooner or later, and then perhaps you can return to your friends in Pella where it will be waiting for you.”

Rebekah shakes her head. “I’ve had my sister’s Galatians destroy the cup, pound it into pieces with hammer and chisel, then bury the pieces. There will always be men like Argos who would try to steal it for evil purposes, and there’ll always be those believers who would make of it an idol.”

Zechariah frowns, then finally nods. “I understand. Yes . . . you did right. Besides, your treasure is within you, where our Lord resides. It’s in all who believe. We don’t need His cup.” He smiles and pats her arm. “I’ll pray for your safety. And for your patience. God is in control, Rebekah. He’ll lead you where He will. Have faith.”

All the while I’ve been listening, and now I feel the veins of my neck throb. Oh, but that man is arrogant! Does he think he’s the one to comfort my wife? Does he think that his are the words she’ll hearken to? Does he think he can take my place?

I watch them hug and say good-bye, and know that in a way he already has, and I burn with jealousy. But I’m not jealous of him as a man. He’s not a lover, a suitor. In a sense, he’s far worse. He is her friend, her confidant, her counselor.
He
was there when I was not.
He
cared for and protected Rebekah these many months. It was
his
words that comforted, guided, cautioned. And there will forever be a part of Rebekah’s life that belongs to him and not me. Things they shared, dangers thwarted, things I’ll never understand. If only I had . . . if only . . . but I’m a man of honor. Could I have forsaken honor and left Jerusalem with her, like a coward? And now? Am I to forget my pledge to Eleazar? How is that possible? Must I choose between honor and my wife? Was I to keep one at the expense of the other?

I watch in numb silence as Zechariah, a good man, a man I both admire and loathe, turns and heads back to the north gate, and to the ship that he claims will soon depart for Ephesus. Then I watch Rebekah walk toward the cook’s wagon. Her coarse head covering slips to her shoulders, exposing beautiful plaited auburn hair. It glistens in the sun, as if on fire. Suddenly, the wind catches the loose tendrils and swirls them around her head. How young and wild and carefree she looks! As beautiful as when we first wed! And for an instance my yearning is so great I would willingly give up my honor and everything else just to hold her in my arms and hear her sweet voice tell me she loves me, for I sorely need to hear it now.