29 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-nine.
T W E N T Y — N I N E
The rooms of the palace were large and punctuated with small circular galleries open to the sky. Low steps framed pools of water that cooled the day’s breeze before it wandered among the empty chambers to reach the portly man sprawled among the silks covering his divan. Only his feet protruded beyond the layered cushions, and there a close copy of their escort, also young, slender and near naked, soaked linen strips in a lumpy soup before draping them over his master’s feet.
“I would stand if I could,” he said as Josef and Mother approached. “Yet even then, I would not trust my balance.” The man was of an age with Josef, Mother thought, and scandalous, she decided. Though Hebrew, he had no beard — no hair at all, in fact — and it was near impossible to separate the silks he wore from those he reclined on.
Tears welled along the reclining man’s lower eyelids as he raised his gaze from the ring in his hand to take in his guests. “Do I dream? Are you a ghost, or my never-forgotten friend returned?” He gestured and their escort helped him sit up.
“It is indeed I, Solomon,” Josef replied. “I am glad to find you well.”
“Well? Hardly. Each day I am less. Yet you, my long-lost love, you look as I remember you. And who accompanies your return from the mists of memory?”
“My wife, Maryam of Nazareth, with whom I have shared our span apart.”
“Wife?” Genuine shock was plain in Solomon’s tone.
“Well met, Sol,” Mother said, using Josef’s nickname for their host. “Josef and I saved the life of the other, and we have upheld one another ever since. I did not replace you. I could not.”
Sol smiled and shifted his body. The smile became a groan. “Forgive me,” he apologized. “Even this poultice is agony today.” Sol accepted a goblet from another of his young servants. They were so alike Mother could not be sure of how many there were. “The only way to disperse these periods of infirmity,” Sol continued, “is to consume nothing but water until the throbbing fades.” He saluted them with his cup. “It has been three days now.” He gestured at seats nearby. “Forgive me, I forget my responsibilities in my suffering. Please, sit. May I offer refreshments?”
One of Sol’s young Aegyptians appeared and lowered a tray before the household’s guests. Arranged on it were goblets of Roman glass with water and wine surrounded by silver dishes of nuts and dates. Mother chose water, as did her husband.
“Why did you never return?” Sol asked.
“Your brother David forbade it,” Josef replied. “On threat of exposing us — me — to my family. I entered the city once in all this time, to bring our son to Temple. I was so fraught with fear of discovery that I left without him.”
“Son?”
“Yes,” answered Mother. “I was pregnant when Josef and I met and facing my own downfall. Josef prevented it.”
“What brings you to Jerusalem now, then?”
“Our son’s marriage,” Mother explained. “In truth, we had not seen him for some time, and when he came to us, we were forced to choose to attend or not. Josef is here because I wished to come and he would not leave me without escort.”
“Have you lodgings in the city?”
“No,” Josef said. “I have a wagon and we are welcome among our son’s companions west of the city walls.”
“Nonsense,” declared Sol. “I am alone here, with more empty chambers than fingers. Please, you must stay here.”
“My dear Sol,” answered Josef, “I had hoped for your hospitality and I am more grateful than I can say. The four nights of our journey have left their mark on these old bones.”
“No, Josef, it is I who am grateful to see you once again. And I cannot recall when I last had guests. Where is your wagon now?”
“At your gate, minded by our slave. One thing I must ask, old friend. Could I use one of your servants to send a message?”
The gatekeeper inclined his head as Josef emerged onto the street, followed by one youth, now dressed in a tunic.
“Metlip,” the carpenter called when he didn’t see his slave. “Where is my slave?” he demanded of the gatekeeper, his mood souring. Jerusalem was a holy city, but Josef knew it consumed innocence as eagerly as any other.
“He ran that way,” the Aegyptian replied, pointing.
Turning to the youth, Josef handed him a small rolled papyrus and a coin.
“Who is the message for?” Josef asked.
“Tribune Marcus Salvo of the Tenth Legion,” the boy replied.
“Where is the legion camp?”
“East of the Fish Gate, on the slope of the hill.”
“Good. Go.”
As the youth jogged towards the Temple Mount and the Fish Gate, Josef stalked in the opposite direction, halting at the junction to study the crowded square for Metlip. Worry became anger as his mind added this count of disobedience to the tally of his slave’s other recent behaviours. After a time, he plodded back to the palace, so caught up in his thoughts that he didn’t notice they had moved the wagon inside or that the gatekeeper closed the gate behind him.
“How may we charge him with blasphemy?” Jacob asked, when the members had quieted enough that they would hear him. “We have a poor case. He did not destroy the Temple market.”
“We are the law,” Annaias scowled. “That is our purpose.”
“Our purpose, Annaias, is to decide if a case breaks one or more of Moses’ laws. We are not here to twist our laws — or worse, ignore them — in order to achieve your agenda.”
Caiaphas glanced at Annaias, who had regained both consciousness and sour temper when the councillors returned.
“We have been through this. Our choices are few. It is not enough to exile him,” said Annaias. “Exiled, he will still perform his ministry and continue to speak against us. You need only to look outside, or count how many follow him to know the danger this peasant brings. With time, his threat to us — to all of us — will only grow. No. There is only one way to silence him.”
“Blasphemy,” said Methelas.
Jacob stood. “Blasphemy? That penalty is death. On what grounds? He has defiled none of Moses’ laws.”
Annaias stepped forward. “You cherish our laws, Jacob, do you not? Will you stand by as they are abandoned when this peasant is accepted as the Messiah?”
Jacob had to admit to himself that Annaias had a point, then changed his mind. “If obedience to the law leads to the end of that law, then it was meant to be. What if he is the Messiah?”
“He is not,” Annaias spat. “What Messiah would seek to destroy us?”
“Do you know God’s intent with certainty, Annaias?” Jacob asked. “What if the Nazarene is the Messiah?”
“Then God will cause us to fail.”
Jacob persisted. “But if you kill him we risk the rebellion you fear, Annaias.”
“Not so,” Annaias wheezed. “We judge him but demand Pilate carry out the sentence.” The little man shrugged. “It is the least he can do for the gold we pay him.”
“And there lies the cause of the Nazarene’s popularity, Annaias,” Jacob replied. “You wish to murder a rival but do not want blood on your hands. Your interests and care end with you, and perhaps the other priests so long as you earn the greater share.”
The old priest stamped his foot like a petulant child. “You dare speak to me thus?”
Jacob spread his arms and looked at his audience as proof of Annaias’ guilt, then returned his attention back to the wizened Sadducee. “You are our leaders,” he continued, keeping his voice level. “Yet you pay no consideration to the interests of those you rule. What if riots are the consequence of your eagerness to ignore the law and kill a man for no reason other than your personal revenge? You have Temple guards for protection. What of me? What of my fellow Pharisees and their trades? What of the common folk who want nothing more than to live? Will you share your guards to protect your people?” The Pharisee pointed at Annaias. “The danger offered by the Nazarene has but one source. You, Annaias, and your fellow Sadducees. We will not pay the price for your pride.”
Jacob spun in a slow circle, weighing his success by the expressions on the faces of the other Pharisees. “My friends, the murder of one man is not worth the likely violent price to our city, our businesses and our people. Will you stand with me now and leave this chamber? Without us, they are too few to vote any motion.”
To a man, the rich-robed Pharisees stood. Caiaphas was furious at the affront to himself and the nobility by lesser men, but he kept his peace and watched them leave. This might work out better, he thought.
Counting those men who remained — all Sadducees — he saw the old carpet merchant was right. There were not enough men to vote on the charge of blasphemy.
“We are God’s appointed representatives,” Annaias shouted at the backs of the Pharisees. “We are the law.” Turning back to his son-in-law, he asked, “How do we charge the peasant if we cannot vote?”
“Your own words reveal our path, Father-in-law,” Caiaphas replied. “We are the law. We will hold a trial tonight, find him guilty and have Pilate level the sentence before the Pharisees have broken their fast tomorrow.”
Annaias’ smile spread across his face, but there was little joy in it. Satisfaction, to be sure, but Caiaphas thought that if a wolf could smile, this is how it would look. It was a smile to terrify children.
“But we must haste,” continued Caiaphas. “Or wait for the end of Passover.”
“And how will you go about finding this Nazarene?” queried Methelas.
“My spy is close with one of his intimates,” replied Annaias.
“There is no time to cajole information,” Caiaphas decided. “Have them here when I return from the Praetorium.”
Solomon’s gatekeeper slid the iron flap to the side and peered out, something he had done more times today than in the last, well, awhile. He wasn’t surprised to see the slave return, but his composure wavered at the sight of the man behind the Nubian and he understood the slave’s terrified expression.
The Aegyptian closed the flap and hesitated, thinking. He knew this man. Not the man himself, but his reputation. He had heard the tales before leaving Aegypt, and they were not flattering. Had he been on offer to this slaver, the gatekeeper would have chosen death rather than become this man’s property.
Reluctant, he lifted the gate’s iron latch and whistled for help.
The two men entered the house without speaking, slaver before slave, and both paused where they stood at the young servant’s polite gesture. Their silence extended as the servant climbed the marble stairs to the upper floors. The rapid slap of leather on stone followed a shout from within.
“Where have you been?” Josef demanded as he rushed into the room.
“My apologies, Master.” Metlip replied, looking past him.
“I tire of this — this new defiance, Metlip. I know not what to do with you.”
“Sell him to me,” said a voice behind him, and the carpenter turned.
Josef’s stomach twisted as he recognised the slaver who had left Metlip to die in his cage. Then he saw the opportunity within.
Josef studied Metlip for a moment. “Perhaps.”
Metlip’s eyes widened. Sell me?
“Your slave names you Josef, from Nazareth,” the scarred slaver said. “I am Hammaret, slave merchant to kings and pharaohs across the world.”
“I have no need of your name,” Josef replied.
Hammaret appeared not to have heard. “Nubians are my specialty,” the slaver said. “All are traded through my hands. Name your price.”
Josef circled the Nubian as if appraising his value. “He is literate in both words and numbers in Aramaic, Hebrew, Greek and Latin.“
The slaver nodded, adding each language to his profit.
“He is also a skilled carpenter.”
Hammaret’s finger caressed his scar. “All worthwhile skills that justify a premium price.”
Metlip had never imagined such terror as that which shuddered through his limbs, his mind unable to find the words to defend himself.
“He is not for sale at any price,” announced Mother as she came into the room. She pressed a bundle of folded clothes against Metlip’s chest. “Go now, and change. We must leave soon.”
He tried to speak but could not, so he swallowed the lump in his throat, inclined his head and rushed away.
“Do you remember me?” Josef asked the slaver. “I remember you. You left that boy to die, alone in a cage. You were happy enough when my son offered to take him until you saw the child still lived. Your greed overcame your sense, and I had to remind you of the first rule of all caravanserai.”
It was clear the Aegyptian recalled the occasion. “All bargains must be honoured. I remember. My one failure to profit in all my years. Name your price. I offer you four of his race — two males, two females — of an age as he and, I assure you, ever more obedient.”
“All the world is not enough for me to sell him to you,” Josef replied, finding it difficult to keep his tone even. “To you he is a beast, his value measured solely by your profit and naught else. Begone. You will not have him.”
Hammaret was well-used to facing reluctance from others and knew he needed to rephrase his offer. “I must. I have never seen his like. He is the most valuable of his kind in my life’s experience. I have sold slaves across the world. My slaves have entertained Emperors and serviced queens whose lands lie more than a moon’s distance down the Silk Road. My slaves have guarded pharaohs, they have served — “
The slaver went silent then, from shock as much as indignation. Never had anyone turned his back on such a rich bargain as he offered, let alone left the room. A very shrewd man, Hammaret thought. Like me. He followed a servant out to the gate and walked to his palanquin. Then he turned back. “Boy!” he called to the youth. “My yard is near the Water Gate in the Old City. Tell them.” The servant nodded, and the gate swung closed behind him.
As Hammaret settled into the feather cushions of his palanquin, his mind was spinning with possible items — slaves included — that might rouse the carpenter to part with the boy.
Dealing with the slaver had left Josef frustrated and unprepared for Solomon, though he could not help himself. He laughed so hard he had to sit or fall over.
“You must!” Sol begged. “Please.”
“What would you do with him? Set him to building strongboxes?”
“No,” the scribe replied. “We would debate laws and discuss anything that came to mind.”
“To what end?”
“So I might gaze on him naked.”
“Have you spoken with Pilate?”
Caiaphas dropped into the ample cushions lining his throne and let his gaze wander, savouring his accomplishments. He had shown his father-in-law as failing and obsessed with hatred, he would rid himself of a rival whose true threat he had been slow to grasp and he would use that rival as an excuse to demand higher amounts for sacrificial birds and beasts. Only completing the Temple mattered.
“Caiaphas,” Annaias repeated, “did you speak with Pilate?”
“I did. It was simple. He will do anything rather than risk news of a public disturbance reaching Rome, and the Nazarene has many followers. He pledged a full cohort.”
“A cohort?” The old man’s body shook with his head. “That is too many, enough even to prevent any bloodshed. Request a hundred. No. Fifty. Few enough that the crowd might resist. Casualties would be a lesson to the rest.”
“And what of Roman casualties?” Caiaphas replied.
“What of them? Let them bleed for us.”
The disciple John waited outside the western Tower Gate, chastising himself for volunteering when Judas was late. Rumours that Sadducee spies had identified and delivered detailed descriptions of his and his rabbi’s other disciples to the Sanhedrin and the Romans meant that he and the others were being watched. And after what he had heard about the riot in the Temple’s main courtyard earlier, he couldn’t banish a growing dread that threatened to overwhelm him. Yet here he was, in full view of dozens of legionnaires. They watched him from the gate towers, the wall and the roadway of the gate itself.
Ever diligent about his duties, John took pride in being early for every meeting. He helped organize every event his rabbi determined important to his ministry and he strived to prove his worthiness. But spies? John longed for simpler times when he followed Johannen and spent his days face to face with those gathered for the baptism purification. He kept the queues in order, made sure no one forgot to remove their sandals and watched over possessions while their owner was in the water.
Johannen. Rabbi delivered the sad news himself, taking John aside from the crowd as they climbed towards Jerusalem. He had wept, then, and he wanted to again as he waited to escort his rabbi’s family to the wedding site. But a man sitting alone at the side of the road crying for no apparent reason would draw Roman scrutiny like flies to the Temple, so he dug his fingernails of one hand into the palm of the other and focussed on the pain.
“John.” The disciple started at the sound of his name, and again when he opened his eyes to find an ebony giant standing before him. “It is I, Metlip.”
“Of course, Metlip. Forgive me. I was lamenting my previous mentor’s murder.”
The slave carried a bulging leather bag in one hand, but offered the other to the disciple, who took it and stood. “You were close with Johannen, known as the Baptist, were you not?”
John could not hold back his tears at the mention of his old mentor. Metlip took no notice. “My brother told me of him, and of your help when Iesu suffered a seizure. Iesu’s debt is my debt, and I am at your service.”
Just take me away from here, John thought, but he said, “Rabbi is fortunate to have had you to help him find his destiny, Metlip. You may count me as a friend.” He brushed stray grass from his mantle and stepped onto the paving stones. “Well met, Master Josef, Mistress Maryam. It is a simple walk to the wedding site. Perhaps half of an hour.”
The disciple led the way. They walked north on the merchant road to Samaria but left it soon after the city walls were out of sight. John guided them into an orchard of apple trees in blossom and though the ground was firm and flat, Metlip took Mother’s arm in his.
They came to a gentle downward slope and the fruit trees gave way to an ancient olive grove whose trees were arranged in rings surrounding a central bowl. The profound serenity that pervaded the site struck the Nubian. Over time, the trees had grown into the space between, so the innermost ring of trunks was almost a palisade and the canopy of foliage seemed eager to hide the grotto from the wider world.
There were no fires within the grove and they had trimmed the grass short, the cut lengths piled for seating in a great circle. A few women unpacked a line of baskets and sacks and chests, portioning the contents among clay dishes and wooden trays which some of the younger disciples placed around the grass circle.
Iesu and Maryam stood together in their new clothes as their guests took their turn to offer congratulations. Iesu saw the new arrivals and, taking his wife-to-be by the hand, the pair made the short walk to greet them.
As John backed away to allow the family privacy, Iesu smiled at him and said, “My thanks, John, for delivering my family.”
“Be welcome, family,” Maryam said. “We are honoured by your presence.”
Iesu looked at his parents. “Well? You have yet to grant your blessing on our union.”
Mother stepped forward and placed a palm against their cheeks. Meeting Iesu’s eyes, she said, “You have made an excellent choice, my son. Do not ignore her.” To Maryam, she said, “You will be good for him.” She hugged the pair.
“We bless this union,” said Josef.
Maryam hugged Josef. “Thank you, Father.” Then she moved to face Metlip and embraced him as well. He returned the hug with equal enthusiasm.
Iesu insisted on waiting for Judas, but in time capitulated to Peter’s argument that the city gates might well close before the ceremony and feast were over. So Maryam and Iesu stood in the centre of their seated guests and made their promises to one another. Then Peter bound their wrists with a narrow band of embroidered silk and preceded the couple in a circuit of those gathered, calling on them to bear witness to the marriage.
The feast that followed comprised dishes both familiar and foreign, all but two vegetarian and those contained fish, not flesh. Kinneret sardines from Galilee, pickled and flavoured with mustard. Another fish sourced from that lake, the tilapia called musht, stewed with garlic, leeks and barley. Iesu’s fondness for Parthian spices featured in a soup of onions browned in olive oil and garlic, then thinned with white wine and finished with stirred eggs. White wine blended with vegetable stock and simmered with beans, pine nuts and fennel surprised and delighted Iesu, as it was his favourite food and he had not tasted it since he left Nebuzatan’s circus.
Accompanying these was bread to dip in a mix of chopped olives in oil and wine vinegar, two kinds of goat cheese — one firm and one soft, creamed with chopped figs and honey — and salad of pomegranates, melon and dates bathed in honeyed wine.
“I did not lose my temper,” Iesu said to his father over Maryam’s head. “I never get angry, because then I sound like a priest.”
Josef smiled, Mother laughed.
“I and my followers had gathered on the southern steps of the Temple, for the wind kept the stench of blood and death at bay. I spoke of my conviction that appeasing the Father Above by sacrificing His own creatures must have the opposite effect, and that only self-sacrifice was worthy. Some priests listened from the gates above the stairway, but they kept their silence and I ignored them until some guards spilled from the temple and ordered us to depart. When I approached and challenged their priests’ motives, the guards officer released his men to violence. But they were soon overwhelmed and forced to retreat, chased by the angry crowd.”
“You need not have followed,” Josef answered.
“Of course I had to,” his son replied. “I could not risk an escalation of violence. It was not yet time.”
“Not yet time?”
“No. My plan to become High Priest may only succeed tomorrow. I was alone — my disciples I had tasked and dispersed, so I left Maryam behind and pressed through the temple gates. Like a leaf in rapids, I rode the current of people through the tunnels and up the ramps until I reached the Temple’s main court. Despite the shouts, my followers kept away from the spears arrayed before them. The guards stood as far back as the moneychangers’ tables permitted — none of these men had been at the Essaious Gate earlier, but all had heard how one man stepped from among these people and single-handedly laid waste their fellows.”
Iesu raised a heavy goblet of Roman glass and drank the watered wine it held. “I paced before my supporters, calling for silence, but as they obeyed, other shouts announced new arrivals — the Sanhedrin, or the Sadducee members at least.” He waved the empty glass. “Is there more of this?” His father passed a bladder to him and he refilled his goblet. “Before me, it seemed, was the Sadducee priesthood entire, including the priest I saved from Solon.
“Nazarene,” the nameless priest said to me, ‘Begone from here. Your blasphemies defile this most holy place.’ An angry murmur answered from the crowd, but I held my arm towards them and they quieted.
“Of which blasphemies do you accuse me, priest?” I asked him.
“He listed charges that sounded serious to those who did not know the law, but held no legal weight. I smiled while he spoke, saying nothing. ‘You speak truth, my friend,’ I said and repeated some of his accusations. One after another I explained their meaning to my supporters and refuted them, quoting the law. One charge I saved for last — my disobedience of the God-given authority of the Sadducees.
“The nameless Sadducee summoned all of his stature and dignity and faced my supporters. ‘God chooses those He installs as priests through our birth. Wealth and status are His gifts for our labours interpreting His laws. To deny this is to deny God. To deny God is blasphemy.’
“I faced the crowd and spread my arms. ‘This priest claims God permits the corruption of His temple for Sadducee profit. They accept coin from Rome and Aegypt and even Parthia in our markets, but not here. The Sadducee moneylenders force you to pay a fee to change common coins into shekels before they insist only their sheep and their birds are suitable for sacrifice — at near to double the price in the city markets.
“It is our right,” the Sadducee shouted, but the crowd disagreed. I did nothing to curb their anger — after all, I will need it tomorrow — but then a man rushed at a guard. He stopped out of reach of the spear, but the movement brought the rest in an angry charge. The guards turned and fled, and left the priests and moneylenders to fend for themselves. I could do nothing but watch as the crowd smashed cages and turned over tables. In moments, the priests watched their profit fly away on the wings of birds.
“Many of the priests looked horrified, but the nameless Sadducee smiled. Without another word, he turned and pushed his way through the others.”
Judas was still absent when Iesu left Maryam and his family and sat in his favourites disciple’s empty place between Peter and John.
“That was a worthy feast,” John announced. “I had never tasted a Parthian dish, Rabbi, but will again if I can.”
“And you, Peter? How did you enjoy the meal?”
“It could not have been better. Delicious, abundant and no creature died for it. And that bread. I have never tasted the like.”
“Thank Judas, then. This was his success.”
Unable to restrain a frown, Peter looked down, hoping Iesu had not noticed. When he next raised his gaze to Iesu’s, Peter’s features were composed. “Of course, Rabbi. He will hear thanks from all of us. I will make it so.”
Rising to his feet once again, Iesu moved to stand in front of his disciples, who quieted and looked to him. “Today we gather for two purposes. The first, of course, is to celebrate my betrothal to Maryam of Magdala, whose strength and resilience in the face of her trials marks her as the equal of any man,” he paused and looked at his new wife. “Maryam, you are my wife and my soul-mate, and a shining light to the rest of us.”
The moment stretched, but then he returned his attention to those of his disciples in attendance. “The other purpose is of greater import. Tonight is our last supper before we separate to carry the Father Above’s message of love and equality to the corners of the world. I hope we may gather here again at the next Passover — ” Movement beyond the ring of ancient olives caught his eye. “How did they find us?” he asked, of no one in particular.
There was the sound of running feet and the harsh whisper of swords sliding from sheaths as Roman soldiers surrounded the innermost ring of trees. Panicked shouts rang through the grove as the wedding guests instinctively stood and made ready to flee, but Iesu strode towards the trees.
He watched the nameless Sadducee whose life he saved from Solon’s sword clutch his robes tight to his body. As the priest moved cautiously through the tree trunks to save his clothing from the rough bark, Iesu realised why the priests garbed themselves so. To hide the blood they spilled. On another day, he might have laughed, but the Roman presence raised the stakes.
A pair of temple guards manhandled another man, seemingly drunk, between the trees. Behind them were more guards armed with spears and several Romans, including a Tribune. Though all held their weapons ready, they did not advance.
Iesu recognized Judas, but could not reach his friend before his escort threw the disciple to land face down on the ground. Judas lay still.
Over his shoulder, Iesu called for his satchel. “And water.” The two men responsible for the disciple drew their swords. Ignoring all but Judas, he knelt and rolled his friend onto his back. Judas’ left eye was swollen closed, the other filled with fear — but it was open. Iesu raised his friend up to lean against him.
“Forgive me, Iesu,” the disciple whispered through his bloody lips.
“You are the best of my disciples, Judas,” Iesu said to him, “I would forgive you anything.”
Tears ran from Judas’ open eye. “Amrith was a spy for Annaias. They threatened to kill Jered unless I betrayed you.” His frame shook from a violent sob. “Then Annaias killed the boy, anyway.”
Iesu leaned down and kissed Judas’ forehead. “You made the only choice you could.”
Iesu trickled a small measure of Grace into his friend, horrified at the extent of the internal injuries the disciple had sustained. He released enough of his gift to repair the damage that was potentially fatal, but healing his surface wounds — the most painful ones — would have to wait. He could not do it now.
The soldiers’ restraint relaxed the disciples and wedding guests and they closed ranks, advancing towards Iesu and Judas.
His satchel landed next to him as Metlip dropped to his knees on the other side of the disciple and unstoppered a water skin. Ignoring Judas’ trembling hands, the slave held it so he could drink.
Iesu looked up at the two guards and the swords levelled at him.
“Back!” He barked, waving them away.
The two men staggered backwards as if struck, colliding and falling to the ground. Peter lunged forward, picked up a loose sword. He turned to face Judas, his eyes wild, but then pivoted and swung the weapon in a wide arc. The sword’s tip glanced off the head of a short, lizard-featured man standing beside the Sadducee. The man pressed his hand to his head and screamed, which became a signal that roused the wedding guests into flight.
There was nowhere for them to go. The Romans occupied every space separating the ancient olive trunks, and no one dared to risk charging a legionnaire with a ready weapon.
Peter turned back, once again staring at Judas. Iesu stood, moving to place himself in front of Peter. “Drop the sword, my friend. You only invite your own death.” Peter’s gaze traveled from Judas to the blood smeared across the sword’s point. He shuddered and then threw the weapon down.
Iesu then approached the injured man, who was screaming. His fingers fumbled with his ear, which hung from his skull by a thin band of skin. Iesu placed his hand over the other man’s.
“That is a lot of noise for a wound so slight,” Iesu told him.
The other quieted somewhat, though he continued to sob.
Iesu pulled their hands away. The ear was whole.
“Even now the bleeding has stopped.”
The man felt for a wound but found none.
The Sadducee pointed at Iesu. “Him. Take him.”
The officer gestured. Two centurions stepped out of line and took hold of Iesu.
A wave of tension swept through the wedding guests. Mother slipped her hand around Metlip’s arm, tightening her grip when he moved to go to his brother’s aid.
The Sadducee waved his arm. “Take them all.”
The temple guards moved forward, separating to corral the group, but their advance faltered as they noticed the Romans weren’t with them.
Turning to face the Tribune, the Sadducee repeated his order. “Take them all.”
“Speak those words again, priest, and they will be your last,” replied the Tribune. “My orders are to arrest one man, named Iesu of the town of Nazareth.”
“I am in authority here,” the Sadducee announced, so the Tribune drew his sword. The Sadducee bowed his head at the Roman and went quiet.
Iesu spoke up. “It is I you seek, Tribune. Let these people be.” He held out his hands for binding. Maryam seized his arm to pull him away, but he resisted, turning to face her, He leaned in and kissed her lips. “I am sorry, my Heart, but do not despair. Please see to Judas.”
Josef challenged the Sadducee. “For what crime do you arrest this man? By what evidence do you bind him?”
The priest glanced at the Tribune before answering. “That is for the Sanhedrin to decide. I am responsible for his appearance before it. They bind him because it is the Roman way.” Then the Sadducee turned away but Josef stepped around him.
“The Sanhedrin convenes in the morning,” Josef informed the other man. “Where do you take him now?”
“To the High Priest.” The Sadducee pushed past Josef, the Romans parting for him and his associates. Slowing, the Sadducee turned back towards the crowd. He fished a pouch from a pocket and tossed it at Judas. Silver spilled across the grass. “I will not have it said we do not pay for services rendered, whatever the form. The silver is yours. Do with it what you will.”
Maryam knelt by Judas and scanned his wounds as she pulled cloths from the satchel.
Josef motioned to Metlip, who tugged his arm from Mother’s grasp and went to him.
“Take the women back to Solomon’s. I shall accompany Iesu.” Josef then hurried to catch up with the Romans escorting his son.
“Master says we must return to Solomon’s,” Metlip informed the women.
“I will not leave Judas,” Maryam insisted, so the Nubian lifted the injured disciple in his arms. “We will not leave him, Sister.”
Nervous and surrounded by soldiers, the celebrants allowed themselves to be herded from the glade.
The silver coins remained where they fell, forgotten.
