earliest lark, while the thin, exposed pastures hosted grazing sheep, too lazy to take heed of the murderers who rushed by. A raven squawked in a nearby bush, disturbed by the noise of the Egyptians as they ran. It sent a cold shiver through Yeshua, who was still convinced that all God’s creatures were pointing the finger of guilt towards him and his brother as they fled for the anonymity of the town. Before the assassins, the silhouette of the Samaritan mountains was sharpening, as daylight was about to break. From behind, the Mediterranean haze pursued them along the dusty track that crossed the Plain of Sharon. Gradually the climb towards the foothills began to take its toll on Egyptian limbs and the brothers’ pace began to drop.
“Stop!” Yeshua panted. “Can you hear that?”
“Above the sound of your breathing?” Theudas gasped, “I wouldn’t hear if they were chasing us on elephants!”
Yeshua held up his hand and gazed back along the track that had begun to wind itself around the contours of small hills, hiding itself from full view. “I thought I heard horses,” the Egyptian heaved as he gathered his breath.
“Only because you’re expecting to hear them,” his brother replied. “They’ll be lucky if they’ve found the bodies yet.”
“We need to keep moving,” said Yeshua, narrowing his eyes and facing east. “I don’t want to take any chances.”
Yeshua had been so obsessed with preparing for the worst outcome imaginable that it had become the only outcome imaginable. Every minute of his escape brought further disbelief that he was still alive. After countless further glances behind and several pauses to listen, the town of Narbata eventually unveiled itself through the widening gaps between hills that filled the view ahead.
“We’re going to do it,” Yeshua muttered to himself.
“Of course we are,” Theudas puffed as they ran. “Ten minutes and we’re there.”
Yeshua turned to notice with gratitude that the coastal haze had, at last, visibly retreated. No one had been passed on the road, and the companions reached the little town before the sun’s rays and prefect’s horses.
The assassins circled through the dry landscape south of the town so as to enter from the east, as though they were journeying toward rather than away from Caesarea. Today was market day, leaving the brothers to mingle easily in the early morning crowds. The plan was simple. Having collected their supplies, they would make the two-day journey south to Joppa from where they could take their return voyage to Alexandria.
Still, it was too early to enter Narbata without suspicion so the brothers sat under a fig tree, out of sight from the town’s eastern approach and hidden from the road behind the bumpy landscape.
“Er, Yeshua. Have you looked inside here?” Theudas was gazing into his newly acquired purse. “A week’s wages!”
“So you’re buying breakfast?” said Yeshua as his sweaty fingers explored the purse he carried. The coins were accompanied by a small piece of wood, which was brought out for inspection.
“What is it?”
“A figurine! Looks like a boy.”
“Money?”
“Yeh, ten denarii, probably about the same as you.”
“We are going to have such a party tonight.”
“Let’s get through today first.” He paused, and caressing the coins he had robbed asked Theudas, “You okay?”
Theudas shrugged his shoulders, as though the inconvenience of killing someone had merely robbed him of a little sleep. “Ask me over a cup of wine this evening.”
“They must have found the bodies by now. Do you think they’ll know where we’re going?”
“Yeshua! It could have been anyone from anywhere. We’ve done it. The prefect’s bowels are bursting. Justice is served. Job done.” With that, Theudas lay himself down, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to sleep!”
“We need rest. It’ll help us to think straight.”
“We’re not in the clear yet.”
“Yeh, well we can’t do anything for at least an hour.”
“Theudas! We are assassins. As far as Rome’s concerned, we’re murderers.”
“Tired murderers.” yawned Theudas, adjusting his back on his patch of stony ground. “Wake me up in an hour.”
“You’re not praying?”
“Suppose you’re right.” Theudas sat up and closed his eyes, “Lord of hosts, God of Israel, Almighty maker of heaven and earth. I beseech you, in your manifold and great mercy, close my brother’s mouth and let me sleep.” With that he reclined, placed his hands behind his head and after relaxing for a second, lifted his head just off the floor and added, “Amen.”
Yeshua smiled, shook his head and returned his attention to the figurine of the young boy. Had he made an orphan of this boy? Whoever he was, he would weep many tears on account of Yeshua’s deed. Before remorse could take root Theudas’ snoring interrupted him. The Egyptian glanced at his younger brother, sleeping just as he had since childhood. Eyebrows slightly raised, eyelids looking poised to lift, mouth open, his whole face relieved of all care and his limbs scattered at random. Yeshua sighed in envy and laid back to stare into the heavens.
The laughter of distant farmers and traders began to rise through the song of birds and the yawning of Theudas. The scent of fig leaves above, forced into transparency by the bright morning sky, fell upon Yeshua like a drug. As his breathing slowed, his spirit lightened. His brothers had been avenged. He didn’t feel it yet, but at least he knew it. All that now remained was the journey home.
Sleep would not give itself so readily to Yeshua. The weight of those amour-laden bodies still weighed down upon him. The horror he felt as the dagger had slipped from his hand. The relief he had encountered as his right hand grasped the fallen spear. And his brother’s rescue, redeeming himself from his apparent failure. He opened an eye to glance at Theudas who by now lay like a corpse himself. The sight carried Yeshua back to the moment that spawned this quest for vengeance. The sight of his older brothers’ lifeless bodies in the temple precincts. The final kiss he placed on their foreheads. But their memory brought little relief from the turmoil he felt at taking life in return. The two incidents were entirely disconnected. If only he could link them in his mind he would feel relieved, justified, unburdened. But it was too early for these fatal events to be wed to one another, or for the Egyptian to be reconciled to himself. These thoughts were not for today, he decided as he attempted the descent into sleep. In his agitated state he threw himself on the mercy of the fig tree to bring shelter, calm and rest. But the comfort brought by the tree was shallow and short lived. It did not approve of the foreigners’ actions, and yielded little to the assassin.
Yeshua rose from his unrest, seeking mental refuge instead in the practicalities that had now to be addressed. He concealed the swords in their rolled up cloaks, strapped and ready for carrying, and walked the several paces toward the ridge of a shallow hill. From here he could observe the business of the market, a mere five minutes’ walk away. The sweat of his hurried journey had turned cold but still clung to his skin, texturing his limbs with goose bumps while the growing warmth
