ready to hand, just in case.” Amram’s obvious concern brought home to the brothers the sheer danger they were in. And yet, for such an unlikely figure he radiated remarkable assuredness. His dark hair was soon to be colonized by grey, which had already established an outpost on his rough-shaven face. The gap of a missing front tooth as he grinned, which yesterday gave him a threatening look, was now part of the reassuring demeanor.
“Boys,” he said, with a father’s tenderness. “Stay alert . . . Stay calm.” Yeshua’s whole body was energized by the shiver that came from somewhere beyond him, swept through him, and left, taking with it the fear that could so easily have crippled him. “No safe path to victory,” said Amram.
That’s my line, thought Yeshua momentarily, before making the connection with the old soldier and his war tales. This was a phrase that the Seventeenth Legion came to treasure, as slowly its numbers were ground to zero at the hands of Germanic tribes ambushing them en route. But the Seventeenth Legion all those years ago had never made it to a battlefield, and any who might have survived would be familiar enough with guerrilla warfare. Amram must have known what it was to be hunted through alien territory.
The terrain was their ally as the assassins made silently towards the mounting hills of the East. The Romans were obviously expecting the companions, and by now would have found the abandoned horses. Within half a mile of them a company of soldiers was on the hunt, although once again, they would not be on horseback. Amram froze, forcing the brothers to do likewise. They followed his eyes to the top of a nearby hill as the archer’s right hand felt for an arrow from his pack and placed it upon his bow. The brothers could see nothing. Amram began to strain the bow, and still the brothers could not see his target. Then he loosed. The sound of a distant body hitting the ground was heard before the Egyptians had laid an eye on the arrow’s victim. Looking back at Amram they saw that another arrow sat upon his bowstring, as silently they followed him around to the eastern side of the hill.
“Stay here,” the archer whispered, as he climbed towards his fallen prey. He was out of sight for only a few seconds, and returned to the brothers as silently and effortlessly as he had left them. The archer said nothing as he pushed further towards the east in the knowledge that the Egyptians would stay close and quiet.
Amram seemed to know exactly what he was doing and where he was going. The brothers continued to scan every ridge and slope, in front and behind, in case Amram’s all-seeing eye might fail. As unlikely as that might have seemed, they hardly assumed any favor, either with God or with luck.
The sun was no ally to the companions on this day, but neither would it offer its allegiance to those from whom they fled. Their pace felt cumbersome, slowed by the tireless heat from above and the unforgiving terrain underfoot. Here the highlands of Judea ran from the northwest to the southeast. These hills alone witnessed three assassins, scrambling across naked rock and wiry grass. The western climbs of the ridges were steep, hot, and painfully slow, but the eastern descents often brought some shade and a return of strength. Increasingly, these slopes were ploughed with gullies, steep ravines, and the welcome sound of gushing waters. During this endless flight from cavalry there was no Egyptian protest at the relentless pace that saw the archer striding uphill, pressing his arms onto his knees as they rose before him and then running down the gentler slopes with a lightness that did not sort well with his age or apparent state of health.
“Look at that,” the archer laughed, drawing the brothers’ attention to an eagle that circled above them. The glorious sight brought no comfort. Yeshua’s exhaustion and paranoia had expelled all reason, and he feared that the eagle might somehow report their whereabouts to the cavalrymen.
Early afternoon had brought them beyond the highest ridge, and the Mediterranean glimmer sank from view. Two hours of progress brought neither sight nor sound of human life, and as the companions descended towards the Jordan valley their pace slowed and their spirits lightened. “You can put those away now,” said Amram as he looked at their blades. He did the same with his bow. The brothers stopped under the shade of a palm tree to do as they were told. “You two ready for food?”
“We’re Jews!” Theudas grinned. And so the assassins sat in the cool shade of a hot day, drank, and ate. Carrying nothing but fruit, bread and water it was hardly a lavish meal. But after such a pursuit, the satisfaction the brief rest brought was immeasurable.
“Well, I don’t suppose you were expecting to have your lunch in Galilee when you got up this morning.”
“Where are we going, Amram?” asked Yeshua.
“Arbela,” he replied, pointing eastwards down towards the bright glare of the Galilean Sea. Beautiful green hills clothed with fruit trees stretched their way along the distance of around ten miles. A road winding just a few hundred feet below led almost directly to the place to which Amram had pointed.
“I wish we still had those mountain donkeys,” said Theudas.
“We’ll still be there in time for our next meal.”
“Arbela?” Yeshua was groping through his memory. “Do you mean the caves?” He had heard from his father stories of battles between Herod the Great and a group of religious fanatics up in the “caves of Arbela.” It was renowned as a hideout for bandits.
Amram relished over-pronouncing his shameless replies. “A veritable den of robbers!” His words fell, followed by a grin and a well-earned belch. “Safe, secure, cool. Good company, and a beautiful sea view.”
“We are going to a robbers’ cave!” said Yeshua, still trying to absorb Amram’s intent. The idea of being a bandit was still struggling to sink its roots into the wealthy Egyptian merchant son of a rabbi. That rabbi’s other son reminded Yeshua of the reality.
“Well, you’re carrying a purse, I’m carrying a purse, and . . .”
Another over-pronounced declaration intervened, “I’m carrying three!”
“. . . and none of it’s ours” Theudas continued. “Yeshua! We’re all carrying the cash of people we’ve killed and who still haven’t been buried.”
“Thieving murderous scum,” was Amram’s deliberate pronouncement, as though he were about to commence a stoning.
“All I wanted was justice,” said Yeshua, devoid of humor.
“If that’s what you’re after you’ve come to the wrong place,” said Amram. “You can’t be on the side of justice without being a thief. At least, that’s what Kaleb says. I, on the other hand, take comfort from the fact that not every thief is on the side of justice.”
“Amram. How do those Romans seem to know so much about what we’re doing?”
The archer made a visible effort to answer with patience. “What would you do, if you were in charge of an occupying army in a hostile land?”
“I wouldn’t be in charge of that army unless I knew what to do.”
The old soldier rolled his eyes, shook his head and looked at the younger brother. “Theudas, what would you do?” Theudas began to smirk as he drew breath, so Amram rolled his eyes again to caution the Egyptian, “. . . apart from wishing the troops a good morning?”
“I suppose I’d have spies,” he stated without a trace of authority, inviting more exasperation. “Er . . . lots of spies.” He mimicked the archer by over emphasizing every syllable that followed: “A veritable army of spies,” he smiled, as his forehead struggled to contain his inflated eyes.
“Roman
