26 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-six.
T W E N T Y — S I X
The road climbed throughout the late afternoon until the orchards and farms surrendered to low scrub clinging precariously between barren spills of yellow limestone and the road itself welcomed the relief offered by the steep walls of the cut through which it finally crested the northern arm of the Mount of Olives.
And there, built from the same yellow rock of the pass, stood Jerusalem. Though a marvel in itself for its size and history, Metlip’s first impression was that it looked plain. The walls dwarfed those of even Jericho with their height, but lost their grandeur from the fact they were the same pale stone as the rise they stood on.
The ground to the north of the city rippled towards the West, but the eastern walls towered over a deep valley that stretched beyond Jerusalem’s stout defences. Just south of the road, what appeared to the Nubian to be the greater portion of Rome’s military might camped on the western slope of the Mount of Olives. Protected by a berm and palisades high enough to deserve watch platforms, the camp was a sea of reflections and sparks and activity amidst a storm of grunts and shouts and weapons crashing on shields.
His mistress gestured for him to follow the road’s fork that led away from the Romans. Where the incline had been steady before the crest, here it varied as it descended, forcing Metlip to both tighten the reins and pull the brake.
When the road approached the Northeast bastions of the city, the incline softened and he could better study the fortifications. His second impression, now he was moving through their shadow, was that the walls were indeed intimidating.
“That is the Temple Mount,” Mother said, pointing up at the corner of a structure that encompassed most of the eastern wall. “Those columns at the top mark the perimeter on all four sides.”
“And that?” the slave asked as they rolled beneath towers even higher than the temple’s portico. Set back from the eastern wall, the fortifications commanded temple and city alike.
“That is the Antonia Fortress,” Josef responded before his wife could answer. Metlip chided himself for not noticing his master’s approach. Or Solon’s. The Greek’s sandals whispered rather than slapped the paving stones.
“Herod built it in tribute to the Roman Marcus Antonius. It is a disgrace.”
“How so, Master?”
“You said it yourself. The four towers stand above the Temple to remind us who rules here.”
“Rome rules most everywhere,” Solon stated. “And where they do not, they will.”
The road ran between the fortress walls and several rectangular pools of water defined by dressed stone walls. One was larger than the others and set apart. A shepherd and two boys steered a large flock of sheep away from the smaller pools toward a narrow but sturdy gate in the wall at the base of the Temple.
A voice hailed them from behind. “Master Josef! Master Josef!” The Sadducee acolyte Jered ran up, breathless and sweaty. “The Rabbi asks that you halt at the Fish Gate and await him. He begs your patience and assures you he will arrive as soon as he is able.”
Metlip pulled a water bladder from behind him and handed it down. Jered nodded his thanks and drank. Then the slave jumped to the ground. “I will share Iesu’s request with the others, but give them a choice whether to continue on.” He turned his back and strode away before Josef had formed an answer.
Beyond the fortress, the city wall traced the natural landscape, curling to the West until it met a second valley parallel to the eastern one, though more shallow. Just before the city wall pivoted south was a tower guarding the Fish gate, so named for its proximity to the fish market.
Josef’s wagon waited alone outside the Fish Gate at the crossroads with the trade road into central Samaria. Few other travelers took this route. Hebrews refused to set foot in the territory of their northern neighbour, and the Hebrews brazenly insulted and often assaulted Samaritans. Yet the road was Roman made and thus popular with merchants.
The time waiting for Iesu and his followers passed swiftly. Jered joined the children to watch Solon explain the various parts of his armour and their function, while Josef and Metlip checked over their products for damage.
Inevitably, someone begged to hold his sword. What harm could it do? Everyone took their turn to learn its weight and balance, even the youngest children. But holding a sword is not the same as wielding it, and soon Solon was showing his skills before a rapt audience. Well, he thought they were rapt, until he lowered his weapon and found no change in their expressions. Nor, he noticed, were they even looking at him.
The Greek turned to face Iesu, who watched him with a curious expression. The multitude behind him watched in disapproving silence. “Do we need to talk more about your covenant, my friend?”
“Just passing the time awaiting you.”
“By teaching weapons skills to children?”
“Forgive me, Rabbi. I did not mean to — ”
Iesu smiled and held up his hand. “I tease. You are very skilled, Solon. I recently discovered my inadequacy in defensive skills. Perhaps you might teach me.”
“I would, Rabbi, but your father corrected what I have long thought was the shame that has kept me in exile for a decade, and tomorrow I begin my journey home.”
Iesu glanced at his father before responding. “My father has always been wise, and it gladdens me he could set you straight.”
Iesu turned towards his followers and held up his palms. “A moment with my family, please,” he said, and then approached the wagon with Maryam. Speaking so only they could hear, he said, “These many may not enter the city at this late hour, and to try would only beg trouble. We will rest the night outside the western wall and enter the Essaious Gate in the morning. If you would risk finding lodging in the city, you must use this gate as they will close soon.”
Josef looked up at his wife. “We shall go with you, Iesu,” she announced, and no one challenged her.
Jered stepped from the crowd and approached. “I would enter, Rabbi,” he said. “My mother is alone, and I have been away a long time.”
“Did you speak with Judas?” Iesu asked him.
“I answered all his questions, Rabbi. My word before God.”
“Very well, then. Seek us in the morning at the Essaious Gate.”
Metlip climbed into the wagon and flicked the reins.
A tower marked where the city’s massive defensive wall turned south and followed the valley’s slope, but the road swung languidly into the bowl of the valley below. It ran between the arches of the great aqueduct that supplied the city’s water before brushing the wall at the western Tower Gate to meet the road south towards Bethlehem.
While the city’s own garrison of Romans patrolled the northern ramparts, Metlip noticed the Roman guards on these walls wore polished bronze armour that flashed reflections of the setting sun as they moved along the ramparts.
“That is Herod’s Palace,” Josef told him. “Marcus said that Pilate, the Roman Procurator, will be here for Passover.”
“I was depending on Pilate’s presence,” Iesu said. “He has a fierce temper but possesses an even greater appetite for peace. His troops will keep the Sadducees from extremes and check the temple guards’ penchant for violence.”
Josef couldn’t help but chuckle. “You were depending on Pilate to be here and keep the peace. It seems you have thought of everything.”
The terrain west of the city wall undulated like the swell of a lazy sea, and thousands had taken advantage to set their fires there. Most of them supported Iesu. Many of those who had lined the road for him knew their places among the fires and, glad to return, swarmed past Iesu’s core group to get there.
Metlip brought the vehicle to a halt, to await the parents of his child passengers.
Sitting beside him, Mother watched for her husband, who seemed to have found a new friend in the young Greek guard. She knew the pair had finished two wine skins, yet neither appeared the worse for wear. She thought Josef’s affection for wine was becoming as bad as her son’s taste for goat cheese.
Or had been. Metlip’s disinterest in his favourite food earlier in the day disturbed her. It was clear to her something was wrong, but she could not think what it was. Yes, Josef had lost his temper more often in the last week than in the last three years. Most of that could be laid at Iesu’s feet, and she knew if Josef couldn’t provoke Iesu to anger, then he had to find another outlet and Metlip was it. Perhaps Iesu knew. She would ask him.
As his disciples pressed their familiarity with Iesu into a ring of entitlement that excluded all others, she noted a subtle competition existed among them. They crowded Iesu with even greater exuberance than his adherents on the road and pushed against one another for her son’s attention. One disciple, taller than the others and of all of them the most richly robed, drew an unexpected comparison in her mind to her husband.
Thinking of Josef, Mother looked for him in the crowd and found Metlip guiding him towards the wagon, Solon in their wake. Josef made no protest when the Nubian helped him onto the bench and nodded when Metlip informed him he would find out where they would build their fire.
With his height advantage, the slave moved straight towards his brother. When he came close enough, he called Iesu’s name rather than push through those packed around him. Using Iesu’s name rather than his title drew an immediate response from those disciples, who turned in unison to see who held such familiarity with their rabbi. Surprise and then incredulity were universal as the disciples saw first an ebony giant and then his slave collar.
One disciple summoned the courage to push Metlip away — or tried to, but the Nubian refused to budge. When a second moved to join the first, Metlip tensed.
“John! Andrew! This is my brother, Metlip,” Iesu informed them. His disciples made room for him to approach.
“Him?” The one named John, the courageous one, could not resolve any way a slave — little better than a beast by his colour — could be his rabbi’s kin, and kept his hold on Metlip’s mantle.
“Indeed,” Iesu confirmed, pulling John’s hand away. “You have heard me praise my brother’s wisdom as crucial to my ministry. Now you behold him.”
“But, Rabbi,” John pressed, “he is a slave. And his skin is darkness itself.”
“Does the Father Above not hold all men as equals or does He define a man’s status by the colour of his skin?”
“But, Rabbi — “ John quieted at Iesu’s raised palm.
“How many tongues have you, John?” Iesu asked.
“Hebrew and Aramaic, Rabbi. You know this.”
“You can write in Hebrew. Do you have the same skill in Aramaic?”
“No, Rabbi.”
“My brother, who wears a slave collar because of the intolerance of those we mean to change, reads and composes Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek and Latin.” Iesu paused, giving his disciples time to understand. “He knows his numbers well enough to run my father’s shop, and you would be hard pressed to find another with his carpentry skills.”
John and the other disciples were silent.
“Your skin is much lighter than his, John, but would you still consider him less than you?”
“No, Rabbi. I am grateful for the lesson.” The disciple looked up at Metlip. “Forgive me, Metlip, and be welcome among us.”
Metlip graced John with a smile that left no doubt he forgave him. “Perhaps you could show us where to build our fire, John.”
“I will direct the Rabbi’s family to our fire,” the tallest disciple announced as he pushed past John. “I am Peter,” he told Metlip, “first of the Rabbi’s disciples. Bring your wagon where I show you. Come, John.”
Peter and John followed Metlip to where Josef and Mother waited on the wagon, Solon beside it.
In hushed tones, Peter asked, “John, did you know of Judas’ plan to meet the rabbi on the road? I should have had that privilege, not a Gentile foreigner.”
“I am happy Judas met us,” Metlip said, half turning. “Though less happy my brother refused the services of the guards he hired.”
“I was speaking to — ” Peter paused. “Guards?”
Metlip continued. “Judas hired men to keep Iesu safe upon his return to Jerusalem. I think Judas loves Iesu a great deal to go to such effort.”
Peter asked, “How does a slave come to be called ‘brother’ by the rabbi?”
“Peter — ” John began.
The other disciple gestured for silence.
“He saved my life as a babe,” the Nubian answered, “and his family took me in. I wear a collar only to soothe Hebrew vanity.”
“It is not vanity,” Peter said. “God holds the Hebrews closest to His heart, and your collar is to remind you of your inferiority.”
“Iesu named me ‘the best of men’ at my baptism.”
Peter halted. “Baptised? Rabbi baptised a slave?”
“Peter.” John continued before Peter could speak. “Metlip has been with Rabbi since a child. Rabbi does not consider his skin colour a deficit and neither shall we.”
Metlip turned away then, ignoring Peter’s low muttering. They had reached the wagon. Josef and Mother were conversing with Solon on the far side of the vehicle. “Master, Mistress,” he said to gain their attention. “Here are Peter and John, two of Iesu’s disciples.”
To the disciples, he said, “Iesu’s parents, Josef and Maryam of Nazareth.”
“Be welcome,” Peter told them. “I feel you are not strangers from the tales we have heard. Rabbi says all he is he owes to you.”
John could not find his voice and chose instead to bow.
Peter waved his arm back the way they came. “We have space for you at our fire, if you would follow.”
Josef guided the wagon behind the disciples, who cleared a path. Solon appeared beside Metlip and they walked in companionable silence.
As soon as Josef set the brake against the sloping ground and Metlip lent his arm for his mistress to climb down without risking her dignity, the disciples led Iesu’s parents away. Solon looked at Metlip, unsure of whether to follow them.
“Iesu’s disciples seem unable to abandon their tribal disdain for foreigners,” the slave said. “Wait while I see to the horses and we will join Iesu together. I have a wish for them to witness my bond with their rabbi.”
“Let me help you,” the Greek replied, smiling.
Before the horses had finished their ration of grain, Maryam came to collect them.
“I have food for the both of you,” she announced, but Metlip’s attention was on a young girl and some sheep.
“You go,” the Nubian told Solon, then he looked at Maryam. “I must speak with a friend, and then I will join you.” Maryam watched him approach the girl, who was happy to see the African. She nodded when Metlip pointed out the wagon, but gestured at her flock.
Maryam saw Metlip’s smile had returned, but it faded again before he reached the wagon. “Vania has a way with animals,” he said by explanation, “and the horses are always in a good mood after her care.”
“Horses have moods?” Solon asked as they walked behind Maryam.
“Of course. Why should they not respond to the quality of their care?”
“No reason. I never considered it. I rarely ride them and have never had to care for them.”
Maryam weaved through the disciples to where she had left Iesu eating with his parents, to find Peter in her place between her betrothed and his mother. He glanced up at her, but didn’t move.
“Metlip,” Mother called, using her free hand to usher the Nubian forward. “Sit with me,” and she patted the narrow space separating her from Peter. There was no space for the disciple to move as Iesu was on his other side, his attention held by Judas. He had with no alternative but to relinquish his seat to a slave.
What Peter heard next almost undid him.
“I will bring your food,” Maryam told the Nubian.
Rabbi’s betrothed serving a slave?
Peter ate little, so as to be ready to claim a space as soon as one opened, only to find that now his rabbi spoke to a Greek in his place, with sudden space made for Maryam and Metlip as well. Scowling, he saw Judas watching him, though with his back to the setting sun, Peter was sure his rival could not read his face. He forced his features into welcome and stepped forward.
“We should gather, Rabbi, now you have supped,” he said. “There is much to plan. I know a place where we may find privacy.” The disciples, other than Judas, stood at once. Iesu finished his comment to Solon and listened to his answer before turning to Peter and those who stood waiting. He made eye contact with each, before looking at Judas.
“The sooner begun, the sooner ended,” he said. Judas stood and held out his hand to help Iesu rise before Peter could close the distance. Iesu helped Maryam stand. To his parents, he said, “I cannot say the time we will return, but I must do this.”
He vanished among his acolytes as they herded him westward and away from his supporters.
“I am proud of our son, husband,” Mother said into the silence. “We were right to let him find his fate.”
“Were we?” Josef asked. “Can it be right to let your son face the danger he seeks?”
“Your son is touched by God,” Solon said. “He cannot fail.”
“I hope that is so,” said Mother.
Metlip had been silent for some time, choking on the ache that clutched his chest, swallowing the grief that threatened to burst from his heart and tamping the rage that screamed in his mind. He controlled none of these, in truth. Each fought for dominance, and so prevented the others from release. He stood.
“Mistress, Master, will you need anything more from me this night? I will prepare the wagon, but I would seek my blanket.”
“Are you not well?” his mistress asked.
“I am weary, Mistress.”
“I can think of nothing we need,” added Josef. “You may go.”
“I will provide any help they might require, my friend,” Solon said. Metlip gave him a nod of acknowledgment and vanished into the night.
“Something plagues that boy, husband, and it occurs to me it might be you.”
“Me? How am I to blame?” Josef responded. “No, Maryam, whatever distresses him is not resistance. It is loss.”
“Loss? Of what?”
“I could not say, wife.”
“I shall ask Iesu. But not tonight. I think I, too, will go to my rest.”
Solon rose and held out his hand, but Josef also stood. “I will walk with her. Then I will return with my last wine skin.”
“Just be sure you can find your way to the wagon later,” his wife said.
As he waited for Josef, Solon poked at the fire, bringing it back to life.
Metlip pulled his mantle up over his head and cried. He wept like he never had before, his body shaking as he released his grief. He was almost too late. Standing before Josef and Mother — she was always and had ever been mother in his head — waiting for them to dismiss him, his fear of showing his pain granted him a margin of control over the nausea building within him. And even then, he held his breath as he walked away rather than risk it escaping as he exhaled.
He chose a spot far enough away for privacy, but facing the wagon to hear were he summoned. For a long time, he abandoned thought and let his grief soak his tunic, but soon his mind once again coalesced around the one phrase that offered a glint of hope. Iesu’s words, ‘Have faith all will be well.’ When he heard those words, he knew that his faith was all he had, and to deny it was to accept Nali was gone forever.
