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Chapter Thirty-One
In the weeks following Jesus limited healing of
Nehemiah, I decided that I would trust my oldest brother and give him the
benefit of the doubt. Since
Nehemiah was once again, at Abner’s insistence, stationed in a sick bed at
Samuel’s house, Simon was my playmate again and, because Jesus was watching
James and Joseph’s every step, they now left us alone as we scampered in the
hills. With Roman soldiers
appearing every now and then, Simon and I pretended that we were soldiers too,
carrying pretend spears and swords, fashioned from olive branches and
limbs. In spite of Papa’s demand
that we go no further than the orchard, we felt safe now that we were visibly
protected by Rome.
Thanks to Regulus and his superiors, Longinus and
Cornelius, we and our neighbors now had protection continuously all hours of
the day. There were, in fact,
three shifts of guards—day, evening, and midnight—and several zones of security
in our town. Other than the bandit
infested main road leading from Nazareth to Jerusalem, the trail in back of our
property was considered the most dangerous part of our town. Because of this, Longinus provided our
zone with the greatest security.
Along with the mounted sentries patrolling the road in front of our house,
there were men patrolling on foot at three different sectors in our zone: the
area surrounding our house and yard and the grove in back of our propriety, a
middle region, which included most of the hills in back of our house as well as
the Shepherd’s Trail, and a third sector of guards, which, in cooperation with
other zones, patrolled the entire perimeter of Nazareth. Regulus, the optio in charge of our
zone, had introduced us to some of his men the day we helped Ezra’s daughters
carry wool to the shepherd’s camp.
There were, I would discover, twelve different guards in our zone,
paired up into three sectors and three shifts. The most visible representatives of Roman authority, of
course, were our daytime guards Falco and Priam. Trudging back and forth singly, together, or in the company
of the optio during his rounds, they would often malinger long enough to mooch
a meal or mugs of wine. Because of
the protection they provided to us, my parents felt obliged to placate all of
our guards with food and drink.
Though Regulus had forbidden us from taking food to sentries after
sundown, we would, if the daytime and evening guards didn’t stop by themselves,
bring them food and drink. Mama
would also leave baskets of food and drink for the midnight shift at the back
door, which, more than likely, wound up being devoured by day and evening guards.
I’m fortunate for a having a memory capable of
remembering names, though I’ve found faces less easy to recall. With the exception of Regulus, Falco
and Priam, our Roman guards were a motley selection of slackers, many of whom
were seldom ever seen. Most of the
sentries we met in the hills or on the trail displayed undisguised contempt and
even hostility toward my family, and yet I feel compelled to honor the roster
of Regulus’ men, who, willing or not, drunk or sober, stood watch over our
lives. Other than Falco and Priam,
the most visible guards were the daytime guards when we brought them their
lunch. Gratian and Leto, who patrolled
the hills, warmed up to us slowly, but the perimeter guards, Diblius and Zeno,
who frequented the shepherd’s camp were often drunk on Arab wine. Less often we caught sight of Arturius
and Justus relieving Falco and Priam in the early evening and occasionally,
during the change over, accepting bread and wine. Rubrius and Dracho, who were Gratian and Leto’s reliefs, after
being introduced once by the optio, vanished forever from our sight. All the other night guards—Malchus and
Probus, who relieved Arturius and Justus, Decius and Horatio, who relieved
Rubrius and Dracho, and the remaining perimeter guards who followed Diblius and
Zeno’s shift (Hector and Octorius and then Balbo and Salvio), were likewise
seen only once that first day Regulus’ crew mustered in front of our
house.
From the day the Romans marched back into town to
begin protecting us from agitators, bandits, and Reuben’s band, it was obvious
that the other zones in town didn’t share our level of security. There were, we counted, the mounted
legionnaires and infantry marching into Nazareth, forty-two foot soldiers and
ten horseman, commanded by only three optio, who reported to Aulus Longinus,
the First Centurion of the Galilean Cohort, who commanded similar contingents
in nearby towns. The centurion
explained the security plan to Papa one day, as I eavesdropped. According to Longinus, thirty men were spread
out in two man teams across town, as twelve horsemen continually rode the
perimeter and streets of town, but the largest portion of sentries were now
guarding the area directly around and in back of our house in order to protect
our town’s most vulnerable zone.
Relief guards, covering three shifts, would arrive at evening and
midnight intervals, which tripled the actual total of men assigned to each
town. Our sector had a total of
twelve men under Regulus, our own “personal” optio, who, when not riding the
perimeter of Nazareth with other optios, made sure his sentries were walking
their posts. The other two optios,
Felix and Virgilius, had similar duties.
Each of them supervised two of the remaining four zones (consisting of
the remaining eighteen sentries) scattered throughout Nazareth, which covered a
much larger area than our sector yet were in closer range of the horseman on
patrol. Occasionally, Longinus
added, the three optios would make random checks upon their men at night and
the early morning, as he, himself, did on occasion. As long as the prefect was concerned about general security,
the Cohort would divide its manpower between several problem towns in Galilee,
but, because of the close proximity of the bandit gang to Nazareth, our town
was assigned the greatest number of men.
Though Rome had much more important reasons for its
security measures in Galilee, the Roman presence had increased from a monthly
show of arms to its present occupation after the night Reuben and his friends
became incendiaries in our town.
It almost seemed as if our protection of Mariah, which caused such anger
in Nazareth, had started it all.
Just as the townsmen blamed us for the Roman presence, most of the
guards appeared to resent my family’s special status with the prefect. I had only contempt for the townsmen,
but I couldn’t blame our guards.
It seemed to be a waste of manpower for so many legionnaires used to
killing barbarians and guarding Rome’s frontiers to be isolated, especially in
one small corner of town. If
nothing else, I suspect they were frightfully bored watching over us,
especially the evening and midnight patrols. Ezra complained to Papa recently about some of night guards,
who, according to the shepherds, gambled, drank wine, and took turns sleeping
during their watch. James and
Joseph claimed that some of the daytime guards committed these sins too, but,
when asked by Papa exactly who these slackers were, they gave him blank looks. In spite of their hatred for the
Romans, the notion of informing on Leto, Gratian, Diblius, or Zeno, who we so
often brought food to, seemed risky, even perilous given the surly looks they
gave Joseph and James.
Like Jesus and my parents, however, I understood our
guards’ attitude. We didn’t take
it personal, as did many Nazarenes.
Most Roman soldiers stationed in Galilee were tired of outlaws and
rabble-rousers. They disliked all
Jews, not just us. Whereas James
and Joseph, like most townsfolk, feared and resented our Roman occupiers, I
admired soldiers in general and had great respect for many of the Romans I
knew. Though he wouldn’t admit it,
Simon was also excited by the Roman presence and had grown found of some of our
guards. While Nehemiah recovered
from his illness and Uriah remained forbidden to visit our house, Simon was all
I had. Thanks to our Roman guards,
we felt safe enough to roam beyond the boundaries of our yards. When were weren’t scampering in Samuels
orchard, spying on the sentries on the trail or pretending to be soldiers,
ourselves, we searched for new adventures in Nazareth’s rocky hills.
******
One sunny day, after we brought Diblius and Zeno
their lunches, Simon and I decided, in the spirit of adventure, to explore a
path I discovered at the edge of the trees. It was from sheer idleness and boredom that I chose this
spot. In spite of our apparent
safety with the Romans here, we were scolded if we were caught beyond our
property line. The exceptions, of
course, were the times we brought the day guards their lunch. The restrictions set by Regulus limited
us to our front and back yards and the grove of olive trees in back of our
house, but we disregarded these restrictions when the mood suited us.
Today, I had to talk Simon into following me down
the trail. We found it lined with
prickly cactuses and thorn bushes and almost aborted our descent. After being scraped and prickled a few
times, we found the trail widening slightly at one point as we descended into a
narrow ravine. Gnarled and stunted
olive and oak trees stood as shadowy sentinels on the surrounding slopes. A shaft of light breaking through the
trees overhead lighted the way but also highlighted the darkness ahead. At the same time I felt my heart
pounding with anticipation, I grew light-headed with high expectations and felt
that familiar prickling at the back of my neck when I was doing something
reckless and foolish, a sensation that indicated both excitement and dread.
“I’ve never seen this place before,” Simon said
fearfully. “Where did those trees around us come from? Is this part of our grove?”
“This is our special place, Simon. Come on,” I cried, charging recklessly
ahead, “let’s see what’s at the end of this trail!”
When the trail dipped sharply downward into a
shadowy hallow, I slowed down and helped Simon make the descent. Hand-in-hand we moved carefully down
what appeared to be steps, until we were at the bottom of the hallow, looking
up at a tangled bramble of cactus, thorn bushes, and trees. It was a great adventure for both us,
especially now that we discovered that our special place actually had steps.
“I wonder where this leads.” I looked up and down
both sides of the ravine.
“I don’t know,” Simon muttered in a quivering voice,
“but it’s spooky down here.”
“It’s not spooky,” I replied, “it’s just dark.”
“I
dunno, Jude, maybe we better leave.” Simon now had a trapped look.
I couldn’t blame Simon for being afraid. It was, in fact, dark at both
ends. We would need lamps if we
wanted to explore any further. As
I scanned the immediate area, however, I felt a surge of excitement. What I thought was a natural depression
in the earth had walls on each side, which I recognized as manmade. There was, I could tell, brick and
mortar piled neatly on top finished slabs of stone and what appeared to be carvings
in the stone.
“Look Simon,” I cried, running over to touch a slab.
“Do you see this? It’s a man with
horns, like the one drawn in Jesus’ caves. I bet the Evil Ones, the townsmen speak of, built this
place.”
“Jude, I think we should leave.” Simon gripped my
arm.
I nodded mutely. Here, buried away in a Nazarene hill, was the evidence of
the old religion that our ancestors tried to destroy. I heard Papa talk about the Evil Ones, whom I would learn
one day were called Canaanites and later Phoenicians, whose religions demanded
the fiery sacrifice of children to Moloch or Baal. Back then I only remembered Papa expound his theory to Mama
that these ancient heretics and blasphemers worshipped the devil and that some
of the townsfolk, including Nehemiah’s Aunt Deborah, were practitioners
themselves.
Excited but terrified by this discovery, it was I
who led the way up the stairs, with Simon clamoring and whimpering in back of
me, the sunlight above streaming down in condemnation against what was behind.
Upon our emergence back into the orchard, scratched,
bruised, and out of breath, we stumbled into Leto, one of the trail guards, who
spotted us as we exited our secret path.
Leto drew his sword, crouched down with his shield, and snarled, ready
to do battle with our dark shadows, until a stream of sunlight fell on Simon
and I and Leto realized his mistake.
“Hey, you boys aren’t suppose to be down there,” he
snapped. Sheathing his sword and
slinging his shield over his back, he beckoned us to follow him. “Come on boys,
Regulus and Longinus want you children to stick around your house.”
As we followed the portly soldier, I was certain
Simon and I would get in trouble this time if we told Papa about our
discovery. To be in the orchard
would be all right, but to be hiking into unknown territory would be
unacceptable to him.
“I don’t know how we can explain this to Papa,” I
whispered to Simon.
“Then lets not tell him,” murmured Simon. “Leto
found us in the orchard. Papa said
we could go there. Let’s just
leave it at that.”
“Yes,” I said, nodding enthusiastically, “he doesn’t
need to know about our secret place!”
******
Leto turned us over to Priam, who had been lolling
beneath the large oak tree on the boundary of our property. I immediately told him the story that
Simon and I agreed upon and Priam ruffled our hair, thanked Leto, but said
nothing at all about the episode as he led us up the path to our house.
“Our you going to tell our parents?” Simon looked up
sadly, a tear forming in his eyes.
“Why should I do that?” He patted Simon’s head.
“According to Regulus, your Papa said you could go into the trees. You sure got scratched up in
there. You boys tangle with a
jackal or wild dog?”
“No,” I replied brazenly, “we thought we saw a berry
patch near the orchard. We found
cactus and thorns instead.”
I had sinned grievously by Jesus’ standards. Priam eyed us knowingly, a smile
playing on his chiseled face. We
thanked him for his clemency and both sighed heavily with relief. I felt guilty for my lie, but it seemed
better to tell a little fib to Priam than lie to Papa about where we had
been. Simon and I were always
getting scratched up. Most of our
injuries were on our knees and elbows, which we got once or twice a week. When we entered the house, everyone
else was gathered around the family table. We expected that we would have to do some explaining about
our whereabouts now, but once again, as we approached our family, a crisis
would eclipse the current event.
Our scratched knees and elbows mattered little after what Papa said.
“You Aunt Elizabeth is very sick,” he said, holding
up the letter.
Mama was weeping, but James, Joseph, and the twins
seemed bored by the present meeting.
Aunt Elizabeth had been sick for a long time. This must have meant that she was going to join her husband Zechariah,
which, after all the death we had heard about in our parent’s families seemed
to be the natural order of things.
Simon and I once more sighed with relief, finding stools by the table,
folding our fingers together, and giving Mama sympathetic looks.
“Are you going to visit her soon?” Joseph asked,
with a faint yawn.
“Will you leave us to tend the shop?” ventured
James.
“No.”
Papa shook his head. “Elizabeth means a lot to us. She’s a very special Aunt; someday I’ll explain to you why.
. . . All of us are going this time—even the twins.”
Mama and Papa exchanged smiles. Jesus had a troubled look on his face, as the rest of us whooped with glee. We remembered how generous our aunt was in imparting food and gifts. Sepphoris was an exciting place, and Elizabeth’s yard was filled with all manner of flowers, fruit and trees. Of course this time was different—our great aunt was sick, so we quickly hung our heads as we murmured excitedly amongst ourselves. Jesus, who knew things about the future, had probably seen something dark up ahead. I tried to dispel this thought as I envisioned the journey, but this notion stayed with me as we sat planning our trip.
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