Rebekah's Treasure (44 page)

“I told him to leave us short on this end,” Rebekah says softly. “It will be easier for our people to fade into the interior than for his. We have the hills to hide us. He . . . and Aaron must contend with the heavily trafficked areas of the Decapolis and Kings Highway. Still, I made sure there was one for you and Benjamin.” Her eyes drift back to Pella, and a sigh, as soft as the breeze, escapes her lips.

I know what she’s thinking. It’s in Pella she wants us to make our home,
all
of us, she and I and Aaron and Benjamin. And for the second time, I’m breaking her heart.

“You do know I love you,” I whisper. But she doesn’t answer.

There are only twenty in our group when we reach En Gedi. Rebekah, Benjamin and I, Skaris, fourteen other men, and two women. We avoid the oasis, for the deserted Jewish village and date-palm groves are too near it. I have no wish to encounter any Romans who may be grazing dates there. And some say a few poor Jews still eke out a living on the Roman-owned lands. But I have no wish to see them either. Nor to visit yet another place where Jew has slaughtered Jew, for it was here that many
sicarii
from Masada came and massacred the people in the village, then plundered their food supply. Josiah said it happened before he came to Masada. But it’s well known that even now many of the
sicarii
that co-mingle with the Zealots at Masada come periodically to despoil the surrounding land and its people. Nothing changes. The
sicarii
are still scoundrels, and not even honorable men like Josiah can rein them in.

So instead, we climb the steep ravine heading for the spring—the “fountain of the young goat” as it’s called. We’re surrounded on either
side by what looks like high rock walls. Above our heads, huge cave openings gape at us like watchful eyes, and I’m reminded that it was in one of these caves David hid from King Saul. The ravine itself is littered with trees and shrubs which help keep down the dust as well as provide some shade. We won’t climb all the way to the spring but will stop at the pool just ahead. Though I’ve never drank from it, I’m told the water is warm and sweet.

I hear Rebekah gasp, and see a badger on a rock ledge above, standing as stiff as the dead carrion we’ve seen along the road. But the badger is very much alive, and stands this way hoping no one sees him. Skaris picks up a rock and tosses it, making the animal bolt, clearing the way for Rebekah to pass.

He has proven invaluable this Thracian who knows Jesus; strong as an ox, carrying and lifting and kindling fires. He’s especially useful now, carrying a heavy basket of kettles and pots. We are all carrying baskets full of supplies, but none heavier, I’ll wager, than Skaris’s. We’ve let go of the camels. The climb is too steep. Instead, we sold them to a Bedouin family in the Judean Desert just below.

We’re all straining under our bundles, and a few of the weaker captives have fallen beneath their load more than once in the oppressive desert heat.

“Perhaps we should rest, Father,” Benjamin says, sweat pouring down his face, his shoulder bent beneath a large basket of grain.

I shake my head, “I’m sure it’s just ahead, for I hear the noise of water.” And no sooner than my words are out, we see it—a sparkling waterfall tumbling from the limestone cliffs above and splashing into a large shimmering pool. Around it, and between some of the crevices in the massive walls, grow moringa and tamarisk trees, ferns and giant reeds and capers. But one side is nothing but solid rock where a ledge, the height of my knees, leads to a long though shallow-looking cave—the perfect place to make camp. Twenty would easily be comfortable here.

“This must be paradise!” Rebekah says, smiling and looking around.

It’s good to see her smile. It’s the first time she’s smiled since leaving Caesarea.

She lowers her basket to the ground, then makes a dash to the pool, giggling all the way as if she were a girl. When she gets there, she plunges in her hand and begins to drink. Most of the others follow. Soon, everyone is drinking, then splashing each other in jest. When everyone has had their fill of both, the women, with Skaris’s help, begin setting up camp.

“We’ll camp here while we wait for Demas and Aaron,” I say to Benjamin who stands beside me, grinning at all the activity. He has yet to touch the water. I think he’s waiting for me to go first thereby proving himself more manly. It’s something Joseph would have done, not Benjamin, though lately, nothing is as it once was.

“It’s a good spot, Father. And we could use the rest.”

I nod. The journey has been long and hard, and also dangerous. Titus has left the 10
^th
legion behind in Jerusalem, and we nearly encountered one of their patrols.

“Have you appointed the sentries?” I ask.

“Yes, but most of the men are done in. I don’t know how effective they will be.” Benjamin gestures with his chin to a group of men who still wear tattered rags and look woefully thin. “We’ll be no match for the Romans if they come.” Then he looks at me and laughs. “Must I drink first?”

I smile, then dart toward the pool and jump in, clothes and all, feeling both free and foolish. And at that moment, Rebekah turns and our eyes meet. My heart skips a beat as she breaks into a wide smile. Perhaps even Rebekah is changing. Perhaps she’s beginning to believe life in Masada won’t be so bad.

Rebekah is sitting on the low stone ledge with the only other two women in our camp. Her head is thrown back in laughter, her hair
loose and flowing as one of the women drags a camel’s hair brush through Rebekah’s long tresses, tresses that glisten in the sun in varying shades of red and brown. She looks so beautiful my heart aches with desire. I’ve missed her. We’ve had little time together since our reunion in Caesarea. And none alone. But that is about to change.

“May
Hashem
bless you this day,” I say, approaching the ladies with one hand behind my back to conceal the small sprig of yellow acacia flowers I picked from a tree nearer the wadi.

The women smile shyly. Only Rebekah answers. “And may He bless you, as well.”

“I’ve come to walk with my wife,” I say, bringing my hand around and presenting the flowers to Rebekah. Everyone knows our secret. We are past pretending. I smile when I see her eyes twinkle. She’s always loved acacias. The other women giggle as Rebekah rises to her feet and takes the flowers.

“Don’t hurry back,” they say, shooing her away. “We can manage making the gruel without you.”

And so Rebekah takes my arm as I lead her up the steep ravine where Benjamin said he discovered another smaller pool and waterfall when checking out the area.

Birds chirp overhead as we climb. A hyrax scampers among the undergrowth causing a small lizard to take to the rocks. And though the way is rough, Rebekah never lets go of her flowers.

“It’s good to be here, like this, with you,” she says, smiling and brushing her chin against my shoulder. Her eyes are moist with joy.

We walk a ways until finally we come upon the spot Benjamin described. The pool and waterfall are indeed smaller, but unlike our campsite, the surrounding rocks and cliffs dwarf everything, rising above us to dizzying heights. I gesture toward a nearby rock that is flat and shaded by lush greenery. We sit and remove our sandals, then dangle our feet in the water.

“I’ve asked Benjamin and Skaris to keep the others away so we can have time together.”

She blushes, but I see by her smile and eyes that she is pleased. “That is good. It will give me a chance to tell you what has been on my heart these many days; how I’ve grappled with the issue of Masada and . . . .”

“Rebekah, I don’t want to argue. Must we talk of that now?”

She presses her fingers to my lips. “Yes, let me speak, because I want you to know that though I don’t want to go, though I hate the thought of leaving Pella and living on that slab of a mountain top, the thought of life without you is even more intolerable. And so I’ll follow you wherever you wish. I’ll go where you go because I
love
you.”

And then she’s in my arms, and my face is buried in her long auburn hair that still hangs loosely around her shoulders. It’s been so long since I’ve held her like this. I feel young again, and vigorous. She is the bride of my youth, full of passion and sweetness, and as we kiss, I hear the clattering hoofs of a wild goat, hear rocks skitter and fall, and I look around. Something has startled the animal. I glance at the vegetation above the falls. Did it just rustle? Or was it my imagination? I should go and see if all is well. But as I’m about to rise, the sweet look on Rebekah’s face holds me captive, and I find it impossible to leave. Yet, as I kiss her once more, I have the uncomfortable feeling we are being watched.

J
UDEAN
D
ESERT
70 A.D.

CHAPTER 11

Long before they arrived, our sentries informed us they were coming. I know I shouldn’t have done it, embarrassed Aaron and Demas that way, but I couldn’t help myself. I suppose too much loss kills hope because, truthfully, I never expected to see Aaron and Demas again. How could I when they were walking into the jaws of danger? They could be stopped. Questioned. Their deception discovered. A captive might be caught, then betray them under torture. See how much could go wrong?