16 The Father, the Son & the Slave
You know the Passion narrative. This is not that tale. This is the story of a father, his estranged son and the slave caught between them as they journey from Nazareth to Jerusalem. This is Chapter Sixteen.
S I X T E E N
Metlip was in agony, waiting for the hour when Nali might return to wash the fat priest from her body. His mind replayed his fear she would not come and each time, the roiling in his belly grew worse. Randomly, the question ‘what if she is not there?’ pushed through the chaos of his emotions but he refused to consider it.
It was too much. He tugged himself free of his cloak and stood. The camp was quiet and free of wandering guards, as they had been set at both ends of the caravan and on the slopes above the column of goods wagons. He decided to just sit by the riverbank and so waited in place for several minutes, listening for any sound that betrayed another’s wakefulness. Satisfied, he walked the path he had memorized before dark to minimize the chance of stumbling over someone sleeping and ducked into the space between one wagon and the next.
But as he stepped out on the other side, his foot caught in a coil of rope and he fell.
A voice spoke from the darkness. “I feared you would not come.”
Had he been standing, Metlip was sure he would have fainted from his relief that Nali was here. He stood and faced her, and did not know what to do next.
“Come,” she said, and took his hand. She led him towards the lead wagons, which he thought was the more risky direction for them to go. Just as he reached the limit of his silence, she slowed. Over her shoulder, she whispered, “There is a path here. Stay to the left of everything white.”
He didn’t look for frothing water or anything else, only the lambent dance of her silver hair as she preceded him. The path was longer than he expected and he thought they must have passed the foremost wagons and thus the sentries also, which meant they were without protection. Not that they would be any safer if the caravan guards discovered them here together.
His next thought was shocking. He realized he didn’t care, and he felt more free than at any other time in his life, even those times with Iesu in the hills behind Nazareth. He knew then, too, that he wanted this life, regardless of the risks and dangers it promised.
Nali turned back to him and without a word, pulled her dress off and tossed it aside. Standing naked with the black stone of the riverbank behind her, she glowed like a mythical creature, a goddess visiting from the heavens. “Now you.”
He obeyed.
She moved closer. “I am pleased you missed me.”
Then he thought it was over all too soon, yet found himself content to spread his tunic on the cold stone and hold her in his lap.
“You were right,” he whispered.
“How so?”
“I tested my master’s tolerance and learned I do indeed have boundaries. Firm boundaries, it seems.”
“Tell me.”
So he did, though he said that with Iesu there were none, and with his mistress there was no need for them. “Both, in truth, supported my view. In hindsight, that may well have contributed to Josef’s inflexibility.”
Nali turned to face him, straddling his lap. She took his face in her hands. “I regret all I said last night. I should not have encouraged you.”
“No. It saddens me to learn these truths,” the Nubian replied, “but I refuse to accept them. Run with me.”
Nali stiffened. She had learned to equate the thought of freedom with terror, and her reaction was not lost on Metlip. He pulled her against him, cradling her in his arms.
“I am a skilled carpenter,” he whispered. “A very skilled carpenter. I speak four tongues and read and compose in all. And I know numbers. We could make a good future, free from the past.”
“They will catch us. Two slaves traveling without their owner? The risk is too great.”
Metlip’s arms released her, but his hands gripped her shoulders, pushing her backwards so he might meet her eyes. “Not two slaves. A carpenter and his slave. Last night I had to convince you I was indeed a slave.” He fondled his collar. “Without this, no one would question.”
“Where would we go?”
“In a different direction to the caravan.”
She couldn’t prevent a smile. “Somewhere cooler.”
“Beyond the reach of Rome,” Metlip added, “for it is they who would hunt us and news of our escape would be known in every Roman camp in Palestine within two days, maybe three.”
“Two days? How far could we get in so short a time?”
He recalled her determination to find her way home someday.
“Would I be welcome in your home?”
“I do not know,” she answered. “There are none like you in my land. None I ever saw.”
“I think they would worship you as a goddess in my lands.”
“We should go there, then.” She leaned against him. “But the risk, Metlip. If they caught us, they would execute us in public, slowly and with great pain as a lesson to other slaves.”
“The risk would diminish with time. My master and yours are committed to go to Jerusalem. We would have a span before they could hunt us.” As an afterthought, he added, “Where is Nebuzatan when you need him?”
“Who is that?”
“The owner of a circus that never stops moving through the world, performing for crowds. He is not important. I was just amusing myself.”
“What of coin?” Nali asked, turning practical. “We would need some until you found a position. I have none.”
“I have some,” Metlip said, “enough to feed us for a few days, perhaps a week. We would have little need of it because we could not show ourselves in public until away from Roman law. We would have to live from the land.”
She was silent, her gaze studying his. “The dream of freedom has fed my hope ever since they took me, but it has never been a real possibility. I must think on it.”
As disappointment dawned on his face, she reached down. “In the meantime, we need not be idle.”
It took longer, this time. She moved against him, pretending it was affection and not melancholy that made her wish to make the moment last as long as possible.
A horn broke through the furore of the rushing water, echoed by another and more.
“Up! Up!” Metlip rolled Nali off him, grabbed his tunic and stood. “Come,” he told her, his voice low and urgent, and he started back up the path. Nali donned her dress and followed.
She found him crouched below the lip of the cliff, his arm held out towards her. “Go!” he grunted, propelling her towards the line of wagons.
Nali crossed the narrow space to the first wagon and paused, looking for Metlip to join her, when a figure appeared. It was not a guard.
“Hold!” he shouted and levelled his spear. Nali screamed.
Metlip launched himself at the brigand. Both men crashed into the vehicle’s side and the brigand fell, stunned. As Metlip pried the spear from his grasp, he heard a grunt behind him and spun on his heel. A second bandit lunged at him with his gladius. The slave reacted out of reflex, pushing the blade away and trapping it in his tunic. The man’s momentum propelled him onto the spear’s point. Dropping his sword, he wrapped both hands around the shaft and tried to dislodge it, but the pain staggered him and as he fought to find his balance, he slipped over the cliff.
Angry voices approached from the front of the caravan, responding to the scream.
Metlip pulled the sword from his tunic and dropped it. “I was not here,” he said and raced away.
Careful not to trip on the coiled rope a second time, he shrugged into his clothes and stepped into the firelight. In moments, he had retrieved his javelin and was heading towards the line of goods wagons when the men of the caravan, their eyes wide but their weapons dry, trickled from the darkness. One of them was Josef.
The last figure walked through the wagons backwards, sword ready in one hand, her skirts gathered in the other. Maryam.
She turned as she cleared the wagons and saw Metlip. Smiling, she announced, “It is over.”
“And where were you?” his master asked.
“Bathing, Master,” Metlip answered, indicating his damp tunic. “I came when I heard the horns, but I was delayed.”
“Delayed by what?”
Iesu moved past them, his satchel over his shoulder, and took Maryam in his arms. Mother appeared next to Josef, relieved to see Josef, Metlip and Maryam all unhurt. “It matters not, husband.” Tugging her slave’s tunic this way and that, she asked him, “You are unhurt, yes?”
“I am fine, Mistress.”
“There he is,” announced a voice behind them.
A small group approached them led by Solon, whose blade was very wet. Among the guards was Nali. A flurry of emotions threatened to overwhelm Metlip as the guard captain halted in front of him.
“This girl says you defeated two brigands unarmed. Is this true?”
The slave stole a glance at Nali but saw no fear. “Yes, Captain.”
“These bastards killed one of my men and wounded another. You saved this girl and prevented the Sadducee from harm. My thanks. I will speak to my Lord of a token.”
“I will tend to your man, Solon. Were any others hurt?” asked Iesu.
Solon shook his head. “We captured two of them, one wounded, the other senseless from this slave,” and indicated Metlip.
“You make me very proud, Metlip,” Mother said. “Come away, Josef. You have no reason to chastise him.” She pulled on her husband’s arm and he let himself be led away.
“Where is your man, Solon?” Iesu inquired.
“At the front,” Solon replied, and led the way. Iesu followed, Maryam at his side, the guards behind them and Nali forgotten in the rear. She looked over her shoulder at Metlip and he caught up, but kept his distance.
A spear stood upright in the wounded guard’s hip, below the rim of his cuirass. He lay on his back, attended by two of his fellows. One guard held the spear in place, while another — Iesu noticed it was Davo again — held a wine skin to the injured man’s mouth. The two brigand prisoners were under guard nearby. The wounded bandit was bleeding profusely, and Iesu went to him first. Solon held his arm.
“Not him,” the Greek said. “He will not live. Tend to my man, please.”
Iesu lowered himself in front of the injured guard, careful not to jostle the spear’s shaft. Davo glanced over his shoulder and the tension in his face drained away at his sight of Iesu. Iesu gestured at the wine skin. “Good thinking.”
He slipped his satchel from his shoulder and handed it to Maryam. She knelt behind the guard and began selecting items from it that Iesu called for as he examined the injury. Metlip stood to the side, all his self-control focussed on not looking at Nali, who not only kept glancing at him but edged ever closer. Iesu said something else to Maryam, and she looked up. A flash of understanding flickered in her eyes, before she called, “Metlip.”
There was relief of a sort as well as regret in moving away from Nali, but he was glad for the time to think.
Without looking up, Iesu said, “I need you to pull the spear out when I tell you. Remove it in a single, smooth gesture. If you pull it too slowly, you will cause unnecessary pain. Too quickly and you may do additional damage.” Maryam handed Iesu some folded cloths, kept some for herself. Davo and two other guards took their places to keep their friend from squirming.
Finally, Iesu addressed the injured man himself. “Your captain saved your life by insisting the blade be left in place. You will survive this, but you must endure more pain as we remove the spear. After, I will close the wound and you will spar with your friends in two weeks.”
He checked once more that all was in place. “Ready. Pull.” Metlip tugged the spear towards him. There was more resistance than he thought there would be, but then the blade slipped from the guard, who screamed and then went limp.
Both Maryam and Iesu placed their wadded cloths over the wounds, Iesu’s free hand resting a moment on the man’s thigh. “Brother,” he said, “hold Maryam’s cloth to the wound while she prepares needle and thread.”
Metlip’s attention was elsewhere, caught by a rising scream which cut off and brought the Nubian to his feet. Before Iesu could react, Davo dropped to his knees and pressed his hand against Maryam’s, who slid hers away.
The Nubian turned towards the captives. Only one brigand remained, while Solon returned from the river’s edge. This was the bandit Metlip had prevented from killing Nali. He was begging for his life.
“No. No. Spare me. Please. I have sons, a wife — ”
Solon said nothing, just bunched the man’s filthy tunic in his fist and dragged him towards the river. Metlip could not help himself. He sprinted to catch up to the guard captain.
“Captain,” he said. “You offered a token for my actions. I ask that you give this man a choice of slavery over death. Should he choose slavery, he will become the property of your Lord.”
Wrapping his fingers in the brigand’s matted hair, the Greek yanked the man’s head back so he could see his face. “I would kill you, but I owe this man a boon and he requests I offer you slavery instead. How do you choose?”
The gratitude in the brigand’s expression was enough. “Slavery,” he croaked through his strangled airway. Solon called for the Sadducee’s brand.
“Thank you, Captain,” Metlip said and turned away.
Iesu held Maryam’s hand, his satchel once again in place on his shoulder, the pair having witnessed the Nubian’s request. Looking at his betrothed, Iesu said, “There are times I think the Father Above made the wrong choice of messenger.”
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