at all!”
“Maybe,” he laughed. “But I’m asking about you! What are you doing, here, waiting upon us? The whole town’s in crisis?”
She eyed the brothers, content to say nothing immediately. She allowed a lark singing beyond the courtyard’s walls to punctuate their conversation as though she had pre-ordained it. “Someone needs to look after our liberators,” she grinned, unconvincingly.
“Miriam,” Theudas tried again. “What are you doing here?”
The woman’s energy left her with Theudas’ question. She took another breath of jasmine, emptied her lungs and screwed up her eyes as though staring into the sun. “Believe me,” she said, “it’s a long story, and you have more pressing matters to discuss—or at least you will when my father returns!” She stood, faced away and lifted her head. Yeshua shook his head at his brother before Miriam turned again to speak softly to them whilst shaking hers. “Don’t get dragged any further into our troubles here.” With that, she excused herself from their company.
“How do you feel now?” asked Yeshua after a moment, not forgetting his brother’s invitation to ask this question again once wine had appeared.
“Bloody stupid.”
“I’m not talking about Miriam, you pagan. I’m talking about this morning. You remember, we killed a couple of soldiers, a few more people were killed as a result.” Yeshua’s laugh was devoid of any joy. “Can you remember that far back?”
“I don’t know . . . ” he shrugged and frowned.
“Well get your mind out of your loincloth!”
“I don’t feel anything.” Theudas grinned, and then shut up. Yeshua knew the best way to keep his brother talking was not to respond. Silence was intolerable to Theudas, and he broke it after only a couple of seconds. “I thought I might feel relieved, or guilty, or something. I just don’t feel anything.” Yeshua still refused to respond, and after a pause Theudas continued. “I guess it’s because we’re still in the middle of this. Sitting here in the same luxury we enjoy at home. But really . . .” he glanced at his elder brother and paused, “. . . we’re at the eye of the storm. Yudah will be back soon with his bandit friends, probably with some scheme to get us crucified for the good of Israel.”
“While Yudah watches on with admiration you mean.” Theudas’ face contorted at his older brother as Yeshua continued. “He’s a great guy but he’s only ever been an armchair revolutionary. He likes the idea of rebellion, probably as a distraction from his real life. It probably reminds him of his roots.”
“That’s hardly fair!”
“Yeh, well look around you Theudas. His father was a farm laborer. You and I were born into our comfort; Yudah built his from nothing. A real revolutionary does not build this life for himself.” Yeshua used his eyes to point around the garden. “Yudah’s genuine enough, and he’s well connected. But in his heart he’s no rebel.”
“Well, I’m glad about that. And I’m certainly glad we bumped into him.”
“It’s who we bump into next that bothers me.” In his mind, Yeshua scanned the countless weathered faces he had seen in the synagogue, wondering how many brigands were baying for Roman blood. Or was it his blood they wanted? His mind’s eye settled only onto Kaleb and his one memorable sentence. He sighed to himself before continuing. “We have caused too many deaths . . . in Aphek, in Dor . . . in Narbata.”
“Well, our escape route’s cut off anyway. You may as well accept it. We’re still in the thick of it. I think that’s why I still don’t feel anything,” he added, with another yawn. “Except tired.”
4
The warmth of a booming laugh told the brothers that Yudah had returned with company. His arm was on the back of his companion who emerged almost reluctantly into the light of the garden. A figure who had to stoop as much as Yudah to pass through the archway leaned back as he walked forward.
“Yeshua, Theudas, this is Amram.” Yudah’s companion was impossible to age, but had the look of someone younger than his appearance suggested. In fact, he seemed to have missed an appointment with his grave. Hades evidently did not consider this too much of an inconvenience. The pursuit of Amram was clearly not worth any expense of energy. He would surely find his way back to the angel of death soon enough of his own accord. Amram eyed the brothers, revealing an ill-favored complexion restrained by dark hairs poised to turn grey at any moment. His smile, though requiring minimal effort, revealed a missing front tooth. Its absence cast upon that smile a trace of warmth that might otherwise have remained undetectable. “The finest marksman in the province,” Yudah boomed, handing his friend a large earthenware cup of wine, “when he hasn’t been drinking.”
Amram released a gutsy belch as he extended his right hand to Yeshua and then to Theudas. A few silent convulsions in Amram’s throat and chest passed before his voice was freed to greet them.
“Good work this morning, boys,” he grinned before returning to a frenzy of silent belching.
“An archer? With which army?” asked a wide-eyed Theudas.
“Seventeenth legion, under Publius Quinctilius Varus.”
Immediately Yeshua’s mind raced back to the fireside stories of his father’s legionary friend, Caius. This was a legion wiped out in ambush by Germanic tribes. “Were you in Germania?” he asked in awe.
On seeing that Yeshua knew what this meant, he simply replied, “Indeed I was. And I’m pretty sure, I’m the only one that’s not still there!”
“He can knock a sparrow off its perch at a hundred paces,” said Yudah with friendly pride.
“And that’s just with my breath!” added Amram as a prelude the next round of belches.
Yeshua wondered how a professional soldier had become anti-Roman. Had he been a deserter? Or perhaps regarded as such? Had he been spurned by the Romans when he returned from the front as a sole survivor? His mind was full of questions that he dared not ask. Yet, despite this unspoken curiosity, the atmosphere of the garden remained light, bringing further but still much needed comfort to the brothers. No secrets were hidden. Yeshua was surrounded by people who not only knew of his escapades, but who regarded the morning’s action as normal, perhaps even commendable. This awareness was deeply comforting. So too was the knowledge that the company who took the news of this assassination in stride were not insane or bloodthirsty criminals, nor were they altogether strangers. It was a comfort superficial and short-lived, and although the Egyptian knew this, it was welcome for as long as it lasted.
Eventually a pause in the conversation, brought about by Amram and Yudah lifting their cups to their mouths in coincidental unison, inexplicably drew everyone’s attention to the gatehouse. Another familiar figured appeared as if on cue.
“Kaleb!” Yudah moved from his seat with his oversized equivalent to a leap. The host’s free arm extended toward the Pharisee’s left shoulder.
Kaleb, radiating untold energy and warmth, acknowledged Yudah and graced his host with formality, but made straight for Yeshua and Theudas as though he were being freshly acquainted with old friends. “Brothers! As I said at the synagogue, you have my support,” the Pharisee smiled.
“But
