25 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 Twenty-five.
Note: My Bad. For some reason, I missed this chapter and uploaded the one after it (Chapter Twenty-six) in its stead.
T W E N T Y — F I V E
The next morning lacked the urgent start of the previous dawns in the caravan, but echoes of that routine prevented chaos. It was to be a long day, albeit on Roman roads, but the white clouds drifting across the sky promised to limit the worst of the sun’s heat.
Jered paced along the edge of the rockfall below the vale’s sloping heights as he waited for Iesu to return from his dawn meditations. When Iesu reached him, the young man fell to his knees and spoke his first words. “Rabbi,” he pleaded, “it is my greatest wish I may enter a covenant with God. I beg you to baptize me.”
“Gladly,” Iesu replied, and led the way to the stream. As they reached the place he had chosen for yesterday’s rituals, they found someone swimming along the bottom. Solon’s tight curls hid most of his face when he broke the water’s surface and tossed a greave onto the bank to join the pile of armour already salvaged.
“That was the briefest covenant in all my ministry,” Iesu said.
Solon laughed. “Not at all, my prophet. It just seemed a waste to throw away a small fortune in armour when it represents most of my wealth. I will sell it in the city so I do not starve before I find other labour.”
Iesu shivered as he entered the stream, gesturing Jered to join him.
“Confess your sins so they may be forgiven.”
Jered looked at Iesu in silence for a moment, reluctant to speak.
“The Father Above knows all you have done,” Iesu continued, “but by speaking your sins aloud, you admit them to yourself in His presence. It symbolizes your willing submission to Him.”
Jered nodded once, drew a deep breath and hung his head. “I am a spy.”
“A spy.” Iesu repeated, to be sure he heard.
Jered could only nod.
“For whom?” Iesu asked him.
Jered’s eyes met his. “The Sanhedrin.”
It was Iesu’s turn to nod. “I thought they would send someone.” He searched Jered’s features. “Yet I expected them to be older, more — ,“ he found the right word. “More obvious. You were an excellent choice.”
“They tasked me to learn all I could of you and your disciples. I was to learn your plans and your secrets and then report back to the Sanhedrin.” He paused, waiting for Iesu to reject him.
“Did you?”
“No,” replied the spy. “Nothing I discovered was as I had been told it would be. I uncovered no blasphemies nor perversions, but respect and welcome. In truth, the very contradiction to my masters. My need to sever my ties to the Sadducees drove my impatience to meet you.”
“Does Judas know of your mission?”
“No, Rabbi. I was ashamed to tell him, fearing he would turn me away. I need God to forgive me.”
Iesu placed his left arm behind Jered’s hip and pressed him backward under the water. After two breaths, he raised the young man up.
“I forgive your sins and wash their guilt from your soul. I baptise you in the love and mercy of the Father Above.”
Together, they found Judas, and Jered repeated his story. And, like Iesu, the Syrian saw Jered’s conversion as a victory, though he asked the young man in Iesu’s presence whether he would answer questions regarding Sadducee policies.
“Anything,” Jered replied.
Perched on the wagon’s bench waiting to be underway, Mother noticed several children who would not only have to walk through the day, but keep their parents’ pace. After a brief conversation with Josef — who worried at the potential damage to his furniture — the children, now barefoot and the furniture protected by the leather panels, enjoyed the journey in the wagon.
Beyond the southern lip of the vale, the palm trees returned, lining both edges of the cobbles for as far as the eye could see. The party had the road to themselves for a time, but little by little their numbers swelled with other travelers and soon after that the name ‘Nazarene’ rang out, and then repeated. It had become a litany by the time the great walls of Jericho finally interrupted the palm groves, with new arrivals to the burgeoning company pushing their way to see Iesu for themselves.
Jericho’s walls were massive, more than the height of seven men, and broken only in three places that featured towers and intimidating gates. These were open, and several magnificent palaces were visible from the road. Outside one gate Iesu had his father slow and allow the handful of other wagons and carts to pass them so they were last. He also unwrapped the package Judas brought and donned the clean white wool mantle folded within.
Metlip sat with the children in the wagon bed, facing backwards. From his raised seat, he found his brother’s bright mantle reflected the sunlight, so he seemed to blaze like a star, which made it a simple thing to locate him in the crowd. He could also speak with Judas, Maryam and Solon walking behind the wagon. A short distance further back, Iesu smiled and welcomed his followers. Like moths to a flame, individuals approached to beg his blessing or, perhaps, touch him. Never did his smile fail.
Beyond Jericho, the road’s incline eased, but became more crowded. Many of these additional travellers had been baptised, and those lacking found themselves shuffled to the rear to mingle with Vania’s flock.
Iesu slipped backwards among his followers as they neared Taurus, a farming town where they would spend the mid-day rest. The palm groves had given way to mixed orchards of fig and pomegranate.
Judas slipped from the crowd, tugging his mantle straight. Iesu opened his arm, creating space for the disciple. “Have you thought about what we might feed these good people?” Judas asked.
”Where is your faith, my friend?”
“Faith is hardly filling.”
“Trust the Father Above will provide.”
Shouts of alarm rose ahead, and grew louder, joined by urgent demands to move aside. Then the crowd ahead parted to reveal Metlip sprinting towards them, Iesu’s satchel clasped under his arm. “Iesu!” he called when he recognized his brother. One or two of the men around Iesu thought to defend him, but he stepped past them and spread his arms to keep them back.
“Come!” The Nubian urged, his sandals slipping on the paving stones as he halted in front of Iesu. “A child fell into a well.”
Hiking his tunic hem to mid-thigh, Iesu launched himself after Metlip, Judas on his heels.
The boy had not seen ten summers, and lying motionless between his sobbing parents, he looked younger still. Maryam knelt beside them, watching for her betrothed, and when she saw Iesu and the others running, she announced his arrival. Shrugging out of his mantle, Iesu handed it into Metlip’s care and then dropped to his knees.
“If I am to save this boy,” Iesu told the parents, “I must have room. Please, move away.”
The father obliged, but the mother did not — until Maryam’s hand on her shoulder made her look up. “There is no finer healer in the land,” she told the woman, “but even he might fail if hindered in his labour.” The mother nodded, then stood so she could watch what Iesu did. Behind her, others jostled for the best view.
He waved away Metlip’s offer of his satchel and leaned over the child, placing one hand over the other just below the boy’s rib cage. Looking up at the mother, he said, “Your son breathed water, so I must dislodge it by pressing so,” and he pumped the child’s chest several times. “Then I must force air into him,” he added, and used one hand to pinch closed the nose before he blew a long steady breath into the boy’s mouth.
On the third repetition, the boy convulsed, coughing and spitting water. He drew a series of deep breaths and opened his eyes. His mother cried out and crouched to embrace him.
A voice among the spectators said, “The Nazarene restored life with a kiss.” As the phrase echoed through the throng, another joined it. “A miracle. It is a miracle from a kiss.”
As Iesu retrieved his mantle, the boy’s father appeared, his joy somehow enhanced by his tears. Before the man could speak, Iesu asked him, “Would your gratitude extend to sharing a little of your produce so that we might ease our hunger?”
“I packed my figs for shipment,” the farmer replied, “but they are yours.”
“My thanks,” Iesu said, “but we will accept only what we need to feed those without their own provisions. I will not see you beggared from gratitude.”
The crowd which trailed behind his wagon as they left Taurus stretched so far along the road that Josef could not discern its end, even from his bench. And never in his life had he witnessed such joy among so many, though their reasons for it made no sense to him. Not just one miracle, they said. Two miracles. When else had two miracles occurred in so short a span, they asked. What did it mean?
The two miracles could own one answer only, they decided. They were blessed. Among all the Nazarene’s believers, he had chosen them to witness their Messiah perform one miracle for a child and another for them. To Josef, the link between saving the life of a fig cultivator’s son and a bounty of figs was obvious, yet everyone around him accepted an illusion as their truth.
His wife shared the bench, conversing with a small group of women who kept pace with the wagon, so his thoughts were free to wander — and try, once again, to find the logic behind his son’s conviction for a successful challenge of the Sadducees. And yet again, it eluded him. He was glad Iesu had Judas by his side. Though nowhere near as learned as his son, the Gentile disciple possessed a talent to discern the truth of a thing. He trusted Judas to keep Iesu from acting from passion.
At first, he paid no mind to those standing in small groups beside the road. It was clear, these people were waiting for something. But when he rolled past a cluster of buildings too few to be a village but too many for a farm, every member of the nameless community — men, women and children — lined along the verge. What were they waiting for? Or whom? Could it be, he thought? Were these people all waiting for his son?
He considered this revelation while the groups of spectators increased with every league closer to their destination. The traffic from Jerusalem had lightened, because as soon as these people saw the wagons and heard the shouts and singing from the mob behind him, they turned aside and added their numbers to those gathered.
So many people. And not just the poor, as he had expected. To be sure, many held their tools, intending to return to their labours after the Messiah had passed. That thought struck him like a blow. He had named his son Messiah. Or had he used the term in the manner of his believers? As his inner dialogue descended into a ragged tangle of possibilities, he felt a tap on his leg.
“Master.” Metlip’s height meant his head was level with his master’s chest, which made Josef feel suddenly small. The slave cocked his head towards the rear of the wagon. “You are leaving Iesu behind. The crowds are slowing his progress. Should I tell the other wagons to slow, or would you stop and wait?”
“Just ask them to slow. And when you return, you can drive the wagon. I am stiff from sitting.” Josef watched his slave’s loping strides to the vehicles ahead, then turned to speak with his wife.
Which was easier said than done. While Josef wore his new celebrity with reluctance, Maryam embraced hers for the long denied validity it held. After a lifetime of covered snickers and whispered ridicule, she was finally feeling vindicated, her sanity affirmed. She discovered her new influence extended into most every facet of a Hebrew woman’s existence. Through the afternoon she fielded questions on the Messiah’s favourite foods and her own preferred types of thread to weave, which led her to speak of how her Aegyptian looms were superior to all others, and how their heavier throws resulted in a tighter weave and a finer cloth.
Metlip returned before Mother had finished sharing those details of her looms which made her weaving so sought after, but Josef had forgotten what he had wanted to say, so he jumped from the lower step and pretended not to notice Metlip’s readiness to catch him had he lost his balance.
“All save the Merchant Jeremiah agreed to slow their pace,” Metlip reported. “He wished to increase his pace for a time, because it would tire the camels and render them more docile when unloaded.”
He made Metlip wait while he took a wineskin from his dwindling hoard under the bench. As he broke the seal, Metlip coaxed the horses forward. Josef studied his design made real, falling back until he was walking behind it. He drank from his skin and thought of what improvements to include in their next effort.
So caught up in his thoughts was Josef that he did not know how long the captain of the caravan guard had been walking beside him.
“Captain,” he said and held up the skin. “Would you share some wine?”
The Greek wore no armour, nor was he armed. “Captain no longer. That life is over. I am just Solon, now.”
“Solon. I am Josef. Will you take some wine?”
“Gladly,” the Greek replied, accepting the skin and drinking.
“From the slopes below Nazareth,” Josef added, “my home in Galilee.”
“I know it. I have spent near a decade guarding merchants and nobles throughout Palestine and beyond.” The skin passed between them as they took turns drinking.
“Yet no longer,” Josef said. “What caused you to resign your position with Methelas?”
“Your son.” Solon replied. “He came close to death by my hand at the spring below Mount Tabor, though in the days since, I have recovered parts of myself I had not known were lost. Yet I sealed my fate when I asked my men to choose whether they would hurt or kill unarmed innocents to fill Methelas’ purse.”
“Do you regret your choice?” Josef asked.
“No,” Solon answered, indicating his gait. “He healed me.”
“Iesu is a much better healer than he was a carpenter,” Josef admitted.
“A carpenter? Iesu?” Solon asked. “How does a carpenter become a healer capable of cures beyond any other like him? How did he become so popular that people travel leagues from the city to welcome him?”
“My people crave their freedom from Rome and they believe my son will deliver them. If he fails — ” Josef took a long pull of wine.
“How can he fail?” the Greek asked. “He revealed the Father Above to me. My gods, the Roman gods, are capricious and indolent and fickle, much like the spoiled children of the noble families I have safeguarded in my time. I took part in the holidays and rituals, but only to avoid being seen as impious and wicked.”
Solon glanced at Josef, whose gaze was on the paving stones. He looked up when the Greek paused and held out the wine, and Solon saw empathy in the older man’s face.
“I prayed,” Solon continued, “but I knew none listened. There were times I thought myself unworthy.” The Greek upended the leather bladder and let a long stream disappear between his lips. “Iesu showed me how to be worthy of the Father Above. My race, my status, even my past are nothing to Him, only keeping to my personal covenant.
“I know not where my future lies, but I trust the Father Above will show me.”
“Go home,” Josef told him, and reclaimed the wine.
“I wish I could.”
“As do I,” Josef said. “What prevents you?”
Solon considered his answer. “That which I held as my greatest strength showed itself also to be my greatest weakness, and what I thought would profit my family and make my name instead did the opposite, ruining my father and shaming me into exile.”
“You cannot know the depth of love your father holds for you,” Josef told him, “nor his capacity for forgiveness, for you have tested neither. Believe me, knowing you are alive and well would deliver him such joy that he would forget his diminished profit. You can reacquire wealth, but not so a lost son.”
Josef passed Solon the wine. After another long draw, the Greek continued. “I have always needed to compete in all things, no matter how small, to show my elder brothers I could follow them into our business. I always counted it as a strength, as my family are emporoi.”
“Maritime merchants,” Josef said.
Solon nodded, impressed. “Then you must know how competitive we are. The first ship to dock reaps the greatest profits. I was born to it, and I devoted my childhood to mastering all the skills a ship requires, so eager was I for my own command.”
Josef accepted the wine skin, but kept his silence, happy to hear the young man’s tale.
“Our port is Herakleum, on the Northeast coast of the Greek mainland and the source of the finest olive oil in the known world.”
Josef couldn’t prevent a smile. “What makes it so?”
Solon was ready with a practised answer. “We press our olives early, before they are full ripe. The yield is less, but the oil is so light that it burns with almost no smoke. We sell to Rome’s wealthy at a price far above that of any other. They use it to clean themselves by spreading it on their bodies where it binds to any soil. When scraped off, they collect it and let it rest a few days. It is so thin the dirt settles and the oil remains suitable fuel for their lamps.
“Olive trees produce a full yield only every second year. Eager to take the greatest profit among the Romans, my father filled three ships with oil and then fell ill. My brothers commanded their own vessels, but they gave me the third, supervised by a trusted navigator. With us went a naval ship as escort to deter pirates.
“I knew the route well, but my brothers made my ship the last, and never ceased in their taunting that I would lose my way if allowed to lead. When we anchored for the night, I had a plan ready. I placed my ship so those of my brothers’ lay between us and our escort. I plied the navigator with wine and soon he was asleep. The other crew I promised bonuses if they were with me, and though it would cost me more than I wished, we raised our anchor and drifted away.
“My head was full of the glory I would earn, the profit I would present my father and most of all, my victory over my brothers. Our sails filled and we flew over the waves, two men on the bow and one atop the mast and all watching for danger.
“Alas, no one watched our wake, and when we heard the pounding chop of oars, the pirates were upon us. Before my shock and surprise abated, their grappling hooks bit our hull and there was naught to do but surrender.”
Solon drank before he continued. “I could not. My pride had doomed my ship and ripped away not only his profit, but likely my father’s enterprise. My shame for my failure was so complete that I could not imagine living under the weight of it, and as a slave as well. Death was preferable. So I leapt into the water.
“I wished to drown. I ached to end my pitiful life. But my body would not obey. I watched my friends killed or taken until the current carried me away.” Solon’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, but when he resumed his voice was firm with resolve. “I will not return home until I have enough wealth to reimburse my father’s loss.”
Josef reached out, placed his hand on Solon’s arm. “You said you learned every skill required on a ship, but did you not study the laws governing trade?”
“To what end?” Solon shrugged. “I had older brothers to lead the business. I wanted only to command a ship.”
“I am also the son of a merchant,” Josef told him. “I learned the laws of every land where my father purchased or sold his carpets. I know some of your trading law. I know merchants must often borrow coin to finance their cargoes, and I also know that if the cargo fails to reach its destination, they do not hold the merchant in debt for it.”
“So — ” the Greek began.
“You did not ruin your father’s trade,” Josef finished. “You reduced his profit by a third, but it was a single loss among many gains. There is nothing preventing your return home and everything to gain if you do.”
“I may go home,” Solon said, his tone wistful. A moment later, he said, “I shall go home.” He raised the bladder and squeezed. Nothing.
Josef took it from him. “Metlip!”
As Iesu met the spectators lining the road, they joined the throng behind him until it grew to a size he thought would be visible to God in heaven.
One group on the road from Jerusalem walked with purpose towards the party. They were young men, dressed in mis-matched, utilitarian tunics and mantles of coarse weave, except for one. He preceded the others as if they followed him, for his robes were of finer quality, his mantle the exact shade of his tunic. Taller than his fellows, his lengthy stride had some others near trotting. The group ignored the carts and wagons but halted a short distance ahead of Judas, Maryam and Jered.
“How do you come to be here?” the leader barked at Judas.
“Well met, Peter. Greetings, brothers,” Judas replied. “It is good of you to meet your rabbi on the road so we may arrive at Jerusalem united.”
The young men spread out behind the one named Peter. One or two greeted Maryam with varying degrees of affection, but only one, John, responded to Judas and earned a stern glance from Peter.
“Why are you here, Judas?” Peter asked.
“I wanted Rabbi aware of the city’s tensions. Iesu needed to know what to expect in Jerusalem.”
“Why was I not consulted?” Someone behind him asked, “Why were we not consulted?”
“To what end, Peter?” Judas pressed. “You know as well as I that we feared an informer among us. I went alone to prevent betrayal. Also, I could travel more quickly.”
The leading edge of the crowd parted around the stationary group, and those curious enough to glance to the side ignored the altercation.
“We decide our course together,” Peter continued, “and if communal consent was not possible, I should have approved your action.”
“Would you have agreed to my journey?” asked Judas.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I am first among us. I should have decided what message to carry and who should carry it.”
“You do not know my message,” Judas replied, mimicking Iesu’s delivery, “so your bitterness thrives from my choice to not seek your permission.”
Peter opened his mouth to reply, but Iesu stepped behind Maryam and wrapped his arms around her. “My brothers,” he exclaimed. “This is an unexpected joy.” He scanned the faces behind Peter, his smile touching each. “All of you came to meet me.”
Releasing Maryam, Iesu moved behind Judas and placed his hands on that disciple’s shoulders. “Judas thought to ease my worries by bringing word of your efforts to summon my flock. He praised each of you by name.”
People were slowing as they passed, so Iesu gave Judas a gentle push, then took Maryam’s hand and started walking. The other disciples turned to follow, and Peter found himself last.
