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Chapter Thirty-Three
The Years Slip By
For two long
years, the pattern remained the same, at least for me: classes with Rabbi Aaron
in the morning, work in the afternoon, and fellowship with Uriah, my brothers,
and James and Joseph’s friends.
Isaac and Jeroboam, the long time companions of my older brothers,
became Uriah, Simon, and my friends too, and, as Uriah and my brothers, began
learning the craft of carpentry in order to have a profession to fall back on
one day. Only Simon, to everyone’s
surprise, would remain behind to practice the craft, the learning disability
that Gamaliel once identified overcompensated by an inner resource of energy no
one knew he had.
Rhoda
did, in fact, seem to improve, but remained in Uriah’s opinion a mere shell of
her former mean and ornery self.
One day shortly before my eighteenth birthday, when Rhoda turned up
missing, Mama ran to Joachim’s house and discovered that Hannah and her
daughter had once more fled—this time never to return. It seemed to us that a curse hung over
Uriah’s house. After Hannah abandoned
her husband, Mama was again left to care for the rabbi. This time Joachim seemed better off for
his wife and daughter’s absence.
He soon regained use of his voice and could, with Mama’s help, take care
of himself. It may not have been a
miracle, but it all proved to be a blessing for our peace of mind. Of course, despite the improvement,
Uriah wanted no part of his old home.
That would come later when he returned to Nazareth with his new
bride. Until he too made his way
in the world, he remained a loyal member of the family and faithful worker in
the shop.
The first one
to leave the household, to Papa’s dismay was not Uriah or myself, but James,
who had saved up to study with Nicodemus in Jerusalem. James had, after all, reached his
twentieth birthday and given Papa several faithful years of service. Papa promised, after their eighteenth
birthday, to match his sons’ funds, if they waited to leave, until they reached
their twentieth year. No one was
surprised that James and Joseph both wanted to become doctors of the law, but,
in spite of the agreement Papa had made with Jesus, my sudden announcement that
I wanted to become a scribe and interpreter in the Galilean cohort—caused my
parents much grief. James, after a
great ceremony thrown by the aging Samuel, had already departed, as would Joseph,
with equal fanfare. The only
protesters left when I put on my finest clothes and gathered my traveling gear,
were Papa and Mama. There was no
ceremony this time, for I had not waited until my twentieth year and the
querulous old Pharisee had to be sedated by Abner when he was informed that Joseph
bar Jacob’s youngest son was joining the Galilean Cohort instead of following
his father’s craft.
“It’s
scandalous,” Ezra had said, when he heard of my ambition. “A Jew can’t serve
Rome!”
“How could he
shame your family like this?” Isaac had asked Jesus.
Jeroboam had
said as much, as had many townsfolk.
Papa’s drinking had subsided because of so many recent furniture orders,
but had taken an upswing during this period. I found Mama weeping softly to herself at times, and Uriah,
Tabitha, and my sisters occasionally sniveling to themselves as the hour
approached. James letter from
Jerusalem was so sharply critical of my decision to be a Roman scribe Papa
hesitated to read it. Joseph, who
would leave before twentieth year, too, was embarrassed by my decision, yet
also envious of my chance to leave home.
Only Jesus remained an advocate for me. After he had convinced Papa that I would leave anyhow, no
matter if he gave his blessing or not, he managed to gather together our family
and give me a fair send-off.
Samuel, Ezra, and the townsmen were not present, but Jesus had talked
Aaron, our teacher, to add his blessing to Papa’s halfhearted attempt. As we sat around a roasted lamb,
lentils, and a mug of watered wine, now that I was a young man, we joined in a
prayer circle, which Aaron thought was a delightful custom. Jesus prayed, Aaron prayed, and we all
mumbled a short prayer, but it was, this time, the farewell speech given by
Aaron that helped set my course.
“It’s not the
service or occupation that makes a man,” he began in a high-pitched yet jovial
voice, “it’s the man, as the servant or craftsmen, who makes his mark by his
own merit. God shall be his guide,
not Rome nor even Jewish patriotism or loyalty to family or friends. When the Lord speaks, a righteous man
will harken to His will, though it runs contrary to commands from superiors or
the mistaken urgings of others attempting to turn his path. A righteous man should follow Caesar’s
dictates but obey the will of the Lord.
He should forsake parents, siblings, or companions if they are at odds
with God, even if loved ones only accidentally lead him astray. For there are no accidents or
coincidences in our lives—everything we do is a part of God’s mysterious
design. When you report to your
new leader or commander do so girded humbly, knowing that this is also part of
the Lord’s plan. When you sail,
march or ride in service to an earthly lord, let He, who created the Universe,
be your guide. Make your first and
foremost occupation faithfulness, goodwill, and charity to the poor. If you are a good soldier or civilian
and keep your eye on God, everything else—promotion, power, and money— will
follow in course. The Lord gives you an abundant life, but if the day comes
when, because of virtue, you are brought low, your faith and righteousness will
give you comfort. The ambitious,
who are dissolute, have no such comfort.
On Judgment Day, the righteous shall be raised to the bosom of Abraham
to be with the Lord. The ambitious
and dissolute have no such reward.”
Of course, I
would ignore most of Aaron’s words, until I was one day, as he warned, brought low. Cornelius had been contacted in a brief letter, delivered by
Justus, our courier, of my intention of applying for a position as scribe and
interpreter. Papa and Jesus, with
Rubrius and Dracho, Gratian and Leto’s evening reliefs, accompanied me to the
Galilean Cohort headquarters, now stationed in Sepphoris. We knew very little about these guards,
except that they were both swarthy, vile-smelling fellows, who were not happy
with the extra assignment. Though
located in Aunt Elizabeth’s town, it seemed to be a much longer ride. Papa wouldn’t let Mama, Joseph, Simon,
Uriah, or the girls come along.
Tabitha, who had grown into a young woman, was practically my sister
now. Though it wasn’t forbidden,
my feelings toward her seemed wrong, and yet, because of our growing attachment
toward each other, she was just one more reason why I had to leave. A third reason beyond my ambition and
Tabitha, of course, was the notion implanted in me, perhaps to justify my
departure, that I was, according to Jesus, fulfilling God’s will. I would search out the heart of
the Gentile—whatever that meant.
Tabitha was in the small group standing in front of
our house. As were Mama and the
twins, she was crying. Uriah tried
not to tear up but, as we mounted our mules, he began sniveling again. Joseph and Simon were nowhere in
sight—one last sign of protest before my departure. A few townsmen, who had befriended my family, meandered over
to the procession, yet said nothing.
I suspected the rumor had spread that I would be serving Rome. Looking back, until my neck ached, I continued
to wave as long as I could see them on the road. Smaller and smaller they became. Finally, a bellow of dust hung over the road, shutting them
out of my life for many months.
Ahead of us—Papa, Jesus, our reluctant guards, and myself—were several Roman
miles. Recent reports of a recent
bandit raid on the road to Jerusalem made the long ride even more dangerous
than before. As it was, Papa
grumbled to Jesus, Regulus had given us a light escort that comprised two surly
guards, Rubrius and Dracho, who seemed to share many of guards’ dislike of
Jews. Since they would have to
relieve Gratian and Leto, the hill sentries, this evening, they would be
working long hours today. Perhaps
they were being punished, I suggested discreetly to Jesus. Like many Roman guards, they were,
according to Ezra, the wool carder, undependable and lazy. It was rumored by the Arab shepherds
that Gratian and Leto bought wine from them, and spent most of their watch with
the perimeter guards, Diblius and Zeno, drunk under a tree. I could just imagine what idle sentries
would do in the evening or early morning shifts. I would learn later that our general treatment by the Romans
was quite unusual. It was only the
prefect and first centurion’s high regard for us that gave us preferential
treatment, in the first place, and, by proximity with our house and yard, all
of Nazareth protection from murderers and thieves. Nowhere else in Galilee were Jews protected so will—all
because of Joseph the carpenter’s family and his extraordinary son.
One day, I would see this, as everything else in my
life as, in Aaron’s words, God’s mysterious design, but when we approached the
newly built prefecture in Sepphoris I was filled with an inexplicable
foreboding. Something was not
right about all this. It was bad
enough that Regulus had been unable to provide adequate security, but our
guards had been rude and unfriendly on the way and quick to make their exit
when we arrived in front of the building.
For a few moments, Papa and I exchanged heartrending looks on our
saddles, almost as if he too would make his getaway from the scene. Then Jesus climbed off his horse, as we
sat there blinking in the sunlight, and attempted to open the great wooden
door.
“Moses bones,” Papa complained, trying to control
his emotions, “what’s wrong with these Romans? Where are the sentries? Why is the door locked if they’re expecting us to arrive?”
“Don’t worry Papa.” Jesus waved. “Someone will
answer. It’s high noon, a lazy
time of day. Perhaps the sentries
are napping.”
I uttered a hysterical laugh. Jesus was obviously joking, but there
was a worried look on his face. It
appeared to me that our Roman administrator was not looking forward to seeing
me. Perhaps we had taken advantage
of Cornelius’ good nature. After
all, I was Jew. Who did I think I was?
The Roman prefect was ignoring us.
That had to be it, I thought grimly. Maybe we’d just go away, and I would forget the whole
thing. A Jewish scribe in a Roman
cohort? What sort of nonsense was
this?
Partially dispelling my expectations was the
eventual opening of the door, a head popping out, and a gruff voice rasping,
“What do you Jews want? The
prefect isn’t here. If you wish to
make a complaint or suggestion, take it the city magistrate. Don’t waste our time!”
“Sir,” Jesus took him to task, “my brother Jude was
invited to come by the prefect, himself.
He shall be taking up employment with the cohort as its new scribe.”
The stranger grew irascible. “A scribe? We have ourselves a scribe
already. You’re misinformed young
man. Go way or so help me, I’ll
call the guards.”
“Open this door at once!” Jesus called out in
righteous anger. “You might not like Jews, my good fellow, but your commander
does. Let us in to see Cornelius—now!”
Jesus had a powerful voice, which would serve him
well as he preached to the masses.
That moment, however, I knew nothing of his role as the Messiah, and I
feared that he might get a knock on the head.
“Jesus, don’t rile the man, we’ll come back later,”
I implored from my mount.
“I don’t like this.” Papa looked around fearfully.
“I don’t like this at all.”
“Cornelius!
We must see Cornelius!” Jesus shouted through cupped hands.
The shadowy form behind the door charged out
suddenly, a Roman soldier of advanced age, far too old to hold such an
important post. What made the man
dangerous was the gladius he held in a thrusting position. Jesus held his ground, however, saying
very simply, “Peace be upon Scribonius of Gaul.”
“How did you know my name?” The old man halted, his
sword inches from Jesus’ chest. “My name’s Varus. I haven’t gone by that name since I left Gaul.”
“Does your commander know you’re a wanted criminal
who changed his name?” Jesus asked, his fingertip pushing the blade away.
I’ve seen many cool characters in my lifetime, but
none so cool as Jesus that moment.
I don’t believe my blameless brother was deliberately blackmailing this
man, but that’s the way it sounded.
“We’re short-handed today,” the old man’s tone
changed completely. “Almost the entire cohort is on parade at the camp. Our beloved Procurator Gratus decided
to pay us a visit. He left me and
a few of the others to guard the prefecture, until the commander and his staff
return.”
“I thought the cohort was stationed inside
Sepphoris,” Papa said, shaking his head. “This is where we were supposed to
come.”
“Well sir,” the old man cackled, “did you really
think five hundred men would fit in this building? Gratus is stingy. We can barely fit a dozen felons in our jail. The prefect’s office is the size of
Greek cloaca, and his reception hall can hold but a handful of men.”
“This is just wonderful,” groaned Papa.
“When will he be returning?” Jesus studied
Scribonius/Varus.
“Could be anytime now,” the old man grinned
toothlessly.
“I hope you can find rest someday,” Jesus replied
compassionately. “The plot of land given to you for retirement lies on rocky,
unfertile ground. To keep from
starving, you remain a soldier and dare not complain because of your past. Yet the kindly Cornelius has employed
you as a post guard.” “Where are the other sentries?” He looked passed him at
the door.
“They’re asleep,” the man confessed, beckoning us to
follow him after opening the door.
“I thought Jesus was joking,” I cried, climbing off
my horse. “They really were napping!”
“Jesus doesn’t lie,” Papa said dryly.
“But how did you do it?” I stared in amazement at
Jesus. “You read that man like a scroll.”
“God did it,” Jesus replied impatiently, pulling me
by the sleeve. “Get in here before He changes His mind.”
Papa was reluctant to enter a Gentile building, but
Jesus had no trouble at all.
“Jesus, I don’t understand,” he protested, “you are
the most pious person I know.
Aren’t you afraid of contamination?”
“What
is unclean is not without but within us,” he explained, as we stood in a huddle
in a relatively large room.
The old man had been exaggerating about the
prefecture being small. The
reception hall was actually quite spacious. Cornelius apparently had good taste. Though there were large Egyptian pots
filled with flowers and chairs along the walls, he had avoided displaying
profane paintings and sculpture.
After Varus signaled with a loud whistle, several sleepy-eyed guards
emerged from another room. It was
obvious to us that the old man was standing watch so that his comrades could
get some shuteye. None of the men
introduced themselves and stood there glaring at our small assembly as if we
were the lowest scum.
“Don’t mind them,” Varus jerked his thumb, “they
hate Jews.”
“Nice to know.” Papa heaved a sigh.
“So he’ll be arriving soon,” I muttered, fidgeting
and looking hopefully at the door.
“Ho!” Varus cackled, cupping his ear. “I hear them
coming now.”
“Dear Father Abraham.” Papa said with a gasp. “After
standing out in the hot sun with his troops, will he be in a bad mood?”
“He’s a decent fellow,” Varus assured us, throwing
open the door. “Let me prepare him first.
He might not be in a mood for a roomful of Jews.”
“Roomful?” I swallowed. “There’s only three of
us. I hope that old man doesn’t
poison the well. What if Cornelius
has changed his mind?”
“Calm down!” Jesus scolded, giving me a shake. “I’ve
won over Varus. Where’s your
faith?”
“Faith?” I croaked. “After this ominous beginning?”
“Ominous, pshaw!” Jesus grew irritated. “The poor
commander was forced to parade his men before the governor. In spite of that fact, I think Cornelius
will treat us well.”
At that moment there was a commotion in front of the
building as the prefect and his staff climbed off their mounts, handed the
reigns to two of the post guards, and laughed wearily at the old man’s
elaborate introduction of the Jews cringing in the hall. Even Jesus was anxious about our
reunion with the Prefect of the Galilean Cohort. It had been a long time since the fire at Mariah’s house and
her flight to Jerusalem, which had been facilitated by Cornelius and his
men. The Roman officer I
remembered from the bridge was a decade older now. A lot could have changed since that time. What if Gratus took him to task, as he
had before, for wasting Rome’s manpower on our small town? What if my request to become a cohort
scribe got Papa on the wrong foot with the prefect, since it played upon his
friendship with my family after that dark night?
All my fears evaporated when a tall muscular officer
in full armor swaggered finally into the room. At first, as his figure stood silhouetted against the
afternoon sun, we all gasped, as he surveyed our small group. His subordinates waited patiently
behind him as he called out in a loud, boisterous greeting: “Greetings Joseph,
Jesus, and Jude. It’s been such a
long time.”
“Martial,” he called out brusquely, “you should have
brought our guest refreshments by now.”
A tiny, misshapen little creature we had not seen
before darted out mysteriously, bowed in a jerky head-bobbing motion, then went
to fetch a tray of mugs and pitcher (I hoped) of wine. Lately, after watching the way Papa
guzzled it down, I had acquired a taste for the vine. Now, since I was venturing forth as a man, I felt I could
drink it openly, rather than sneaking around. When we all, the other officers included, drank a toast from
our mugs, I rejoiced that it was not water or grape juice but a fine vintage,
the sort of wine Samuel served in his home. The toast, itself, made by Longinus, the First Centurion,
was disappointing, since it made no mention of my new enterprise.
The steel jawed veteran simply barked “To everyone’s
health—Jew and Gentile alike—and the success of the Galilean Cohort. Good cheer and bottoms up!”
“And to Jude’s success as a scribe and interpreter,”
Jesus added in low voice.
“Well, I must talk to you about this subject young
man.” Cornelius turned his attention to me. “I am greatly moved that a Jew
would want to join the legions—”
“As a scribe,” Papa interrupted abruptly.
“And a interpreter,” Jesus finished the thought.
“Very well,” the prefect frowned, “as a scribe and
interpreter.” “The fact is.” He cleared his throat nervously. “We already have
a scribe. Gratus is watching our
cohort very closely after our recent return to Nazareth and expansion into the
neighboring towns. In order to
justify putting Jude on the payroll, I must create a special title for him.”
“What does that mean sir?” my voice trembled.
“As a Jew he can’t bear arms,” Papa reminded him,
“especially against his fellow Jews.”
“Now Papa,” Jesus mumbled, from the corner of his mouth,
“let’s hear him out.”
Cornelius looked at Longinus and Servitus, whom he
introduced as his adjutant, both men frowning severely after hearing Papa’s
words. Evidently Cornelius chief
officers didn’t agree with his decision to bring me into the cohort. A fourth and fifth officer (who looked
even younger than Jesus) looked at us all with unveiled contempt. For a moment, as the five men huddled
in discussion after retreating to the far corner of the room, my heart sank
heavily into my chest and my eyes began to brim with tears as I considered what
this might mean.
Several servants arrived, as the men mumbled back
and forth, to remove their bulky armor and capes, leaving the five men standing
with their leather cuirasses intact.
“Have faith,” Jesus murmured, shaking my elbow.
“This is outrageous,” Papa muttered, helping himself
to more wine. “These Romans have no manners. After I sent Jude’s letter, he invited us to come. Why this change of mind?”
“Keep it down,” Jesus whispered discreetly. “It’s
Governor Gratus inspection of the cohort that changed matters, not the existing
scribe. Give Cornelius some
credit!”
A moment later, as I stewed in my thoughts—just long
enough for Papa to gulp down his wine—the five men returned. Their commander towered over his
subordinates, the facial scar I recalled from our meeting at the bridge,
accenting a wide, teethy grin.
This had to be a good sign, I told myself, as Cornelius handed his mug
to one of the servants and motioned for the three of us to accompany him into
the next room. In a most
perfunctory manner he introduced his staff to us. It appeared that they already knew who we were.
“How about some lunch,” he asked, looking around at
the group.
Jesus and I both gasped when we saw the roasted
suckling pig on a platter and the unknown victuals surrounding it on the table.
“I’m sorry,” Papa’s slurred slightly, “but we’re
Jews. We’re careful about what we
eat.”
“Papa!” Jesus groaned.
“Ah yes,” Longinus snapped his fingers, “they’re
afraid they’ll be defiled.” “Now tell me young Jude, when you’re on the march
with the troops and the cook serves up a fine pig or other unsanctified food,
are you going to insult him and go hungry or will you swallow that prudish
Hebrew snobbery and eat with the men?”
It was a moment of truth for me. I realized, of course, that neither
Jesus nor Papa would eat pork. My
kind-hearted brother was torn between the desire to flee this unhallowed building
and not wanting to insult the host.
Papa was tipsy and a much greater threat to my position than him, and my
greatest fear was what Longinus had just said about the march.
My voice trembled. “I-I thought I was just going to
work here in Galilee with Cornelius and his cohort. What sort of position will I have with the cohort if its not
working as an interpreter and scribe?”
Cornelius took on an apologetic tone. “That’s what
we were going to discuss over dinner.
I’m sorry about the suckling pig.
I thought Gratus would drop in for a bite, but he’s going to dine with a
rich merchant in town.”
“So that’s why its pork?” Papa nodded thoughtfully.
“Sometimes I wish I wasn’t Jewish.
That pig looks downright tasty after our long ride.”
Everyone laughed at this unintended humor. An awkward moment followed in which the
Romans all seated themselves and the remainder of us stood there at the
entrance of the dining room not knowing what to say or do. Seeing our discomfort, the prefect
stood up and called a servant over, whispering something in his ear. As the servant scurried away, he walked
briskly over to us and led the three of us into the anteroom.
“I am deeply sorry for this insult, my friends,” he
explained quickly. “One of those young tribunes in there is Gratus’ nephew, a
virtual spy to the goings on in my camp.”
“I don’t think any of them like us,” I was ready to
bawl. “I thought I would just ride in, join up, and that would be it.”
“Jude, Jude,” Cornelius replied with a sigh, “if
only matters were that simple. We
don’t need a scribe, but I’ve heard about your talents from my guards in
Nazareth. Your ability to learn
languages and quick mind would serve me well in dealing with foreign
dignitaries and the locals, but I don’t have a spot for you.”
If it had not been for Jesus whispering, “You have
nothing to fear,” I would have broken down and wept.
“What I do have,” Cornelius resumed after a pause,
“is a position in my friend Aurelian’s cohort in Antioch.”
“Antioch!” Papa cried.
“That’s not so far,” Jesus said, squeezing my hand.
“My friend Joseph of Arimathea knows a rich Pharisee in that town.”
“So Jude will have a special job with your
friend?” Papa chose his words carefully this time.
“Exactly,” Cornelius placed his hand on my shoulder,
“if this is what Jude wants.”
“Is this Aurelian an honorable man?” Papa gave him a
worried frown.
“I wouldn’t send Jude to him if I didn’t trust this
man,” he answered with great conviction. “There are many leaders and rich men
who are not honorable,” he added, giving Papa an appraising look. “What do you
think of Jude leaving home to serve with Gentiles?”
“If it’s what he wants.” Papa shrugged. “…. I can’t
believe that I once agreed to this, but I did…. It’s up to Jude.”
From a well deep inside me, a fount of words poured
out, more eloquently than ever before.
Cornelius smiled with admiration.
Longinus, who appeared suddenly in the room, seemed to listen intently,
a respectful look growing in his eyes.
“I want to make my mark,” I gave both Cornelius and
Longinus a Roman salute. “I know I’ll be an asset to our Roman protectors. As a member of the army, I will do my
very best. I would rather have
served you, my friends, but I promise to serve Aurelian as well. I have a nearly perfect memory and have
already mastered Latin and Greek as well as Hebrew. I can write fluently in these languages as well as my own
Galilean tongue. Most importantly
sirs, I absorb languages as well as historical data quickly and I’ve taught
myself how to read the stars and maps—”
“Enough, take a breath lad.” The prefect gave my
shoulder a pat.
“He’s convinced me!” Longinus reached out to grip my
forearm—a gesture of acceptance as a colleague.
Cornelius followed suit, as did Servitus, who had
been drawn to the commotion in our room.
Though worried, as Papa and Jesus were, that I would not be stationed close
to home, I remembered my goal to see the world. Unless I worked for a rich merchant, which didn’t seem
likely, I would rather be stationed in a port city like Antioch. At least I would be close to the
sea. Who knows what missions my
commander might send me on.
Already I saw myself as a special interpreter to a foreign king or
scribe sitting in at an important meeting. Then, as I listened to the three officers discuss what I
might be doing for the prefect in Antioch, I realized that none of them were
sure of what that might be. It
would be, I gathered, as Cornelius sketched out the duties of a Roman
interpreter, a shadowy and ill-defined position that required a shrewd, as well
as intelligent, mind. As I
listened to Papa ask the prefect that most important question, “Will this be a
stationary position?,” I was shaken by the prefect’s casual answer.
“We always hope to stay in one place awhile,”
Cornelius answered obliquely, rubbing his chin, “but we can’t read the mind of
Caesar.” “We, the Galilean Cohort, are more lucky than others. Ever since this became a province of
Rome, the unruly Jews have required a steadfast, permanent force, well
acquainted with the people and terrain, but Jude shall be going to an Imperial
province, tame in comparison, to idle away his time. Yet he’s no ordinary recruit. When Aurelian finds out what my guards in Nazareth already
got wind of, he will try to keep Jude all to himself and use his wit and
intelligence to the fullest extent.
If, however, someone outranking my friend, with needs greater than him,
hears about Jude’s talents, which I sense is quite possible, there’s no telling
where he’ll wind up.”
“Then he shall not go!” Papa stomped his foot. “I
understand that this was pure adventurism on his part. Perhaps a stint in your nearby Cohort
and even a voyage or two, if, God forbid, he’s required to go abroad. But to plunge into the unknown at
eighteen years old with no more knowledge of the world than my young daughters
is out of the question!”
Papa was tipsy but also genuinely upset. I had mixed feelings about it,
myself. After all my dreams of
travel, the thought of traveling that far was frightening. What I found most unsettling about
Cornelius’ statement was the implications that when I joined the Imperial force
in Antioch I would be cutoff completely from my homeland and the easy-going air
or the Galilean Cohort. I was
thinking emotionally, rather than clearly, for I had always dreamed of seeing
some of the world. Attached to
this dream was a youthful desire to ride freely on a great white horse and wear
a fancy uniform and sport a helmet, armor, and flowing cape. There was only one place I could
fulfill this dream. I would never
find myself a patron like Joseph of Arimathea. My intellectual wares were untested. Jesus had only been fourteen when he
left on his journey, but I wasn’t Jesus.
At my age, from such a backwoods town, I would never find a merchant or
magistrate as trusting as Cornelius to give me a job…. The Roman army was the
only way.
“I will go, Papa,” I announced, tugging his sleeve.
“I’ll be safe in an imperial city.
My weapon will be the pen, not the sword.”
Longinus flashed me a dubious smile. Cornelius and Servitus exchanged
worried looks, as the two young tribunes joined their commander in the
reception hall.
“A Jew soldier is like having a Roman Pharisee,”
Clevus, Gratus’ nephew muttered to his friend.
“Or a Vestal Virgin rabbi,” Trion, the second
tribune, replied with a sneer.
If Papa, Jesus and I hadn’t been so anxious, we
would have taken offense at their insults. Cornelius, Servitus, and Longinus were muttering amongst
themselves about the advisability of having the military courier and two
veterans accompany me to my post.
These men were already scheduled to escort three veterans out of the
fort. This would provide me safe
transportation. After arriving in
Antioch, I would be given the chance of swearing in to the Legions. This last bit of information, almost an
afterthought, had been given by Cornelius for my benefit. When I heard this, I sighed out
loud. This trip, the prefect
explained, would give me time to reflect upon my decision. Even though I had a choice, the words
“swearing in,” caused Papa dismay.
Jews weren’t allowed to swear oaths, unless they were made to God. I would, I had imagined, being swearing
a pagan oath. I wasn’t sure this
is what alarmed Papa. He might
have been worried that I would act rashly, as I so often did. Yet, during this meeting, he remained
silent. He knew I had made up my
mind.
As I expected, after seeing Cornelius call the
servants over to the table, a secondary feast, which included bread, cheese,
dried beef (a legionary staple), and a surprisingly wide range of sweetmeats,
plus a large jug of wine, was quickly thrown together and sat on the table,
along with three cushioned chairs.
The dried beef was tough, but the breed and cheese were tasty. After we hastily ate our meal, the
sweetmeats, which were a delicacy, were placed in our saddlebags. Papa also kept the jug of wine. Cornelius once again apologized for the
miscue today, though it was not his fault, and promised, when Gratus was safely
back in Jerusalem, to pay me a visit at my new post. Rubrius and Dracho appeared suddenly in front of Cornelius’
headquarters, anxious to drop me off at the nearby camp before escorting Papa
and Jesus back home. When I
considered how much riding they would be doing today, I could understand why
they were testy and might want to get back to Nazareth before dark. Upon reflection, I couldn’t blame them
for not wanting to risk their necks and pulling longer hours. Even so, I wished the daytime guards
had accompanied us. I was certain
Priam and Falco would have been in a better mood and would have been sorry to
see me leave. For all their faults,
I would miss our personal guards and the optio, Regulus, whose quick thinking
after my scorpion bite, helped saved my life.
In spite of shuffling me off to another commander, I
knew Cornelius regretted his decision.
Longinus didn’t think much of a Jew joining the army, but he had given
me a look of respect when I accepted this post. My most important concern, of course, was the fact that I
wouldn’t be seeing my family for quite some time. Papa, Jesus, and I bid Cornelius and his staff goodbye. As the others re-entered the building,
I was surprised to see Longinus remain by the road with his commander, giving
me a special arm-against-the-chest salute. It was very hard to read this fellow’s mood. Perhaps he acted this way on purpose to
keep his men off guard. Thoughts
spun idly around in my head during our ride. It seemed, in spite of the sadness I felt about leaving Papa
and Jesus at the crossing, an auspicious beginning. I would have my first taste of the army when I stayed
overnight in the cohort camp. It
might have been better for comfort’s sake, Papa suggested, to stay in
Elizabeth’s house, but I might as well jump right in. My plan was to become a scribe and interpreter for an
imperial cohort. Camp life, as I
envisioned it, would be a great adventure in itself. Had not Nehemiah, Michael, Uriah, Simon, and I often
pretended to be warriors encamped in the woods? Michael had even built a small bonfire once. My gang, as I had always thought of
them, had explored almost every inch of the nearby hills, enduring thorn and
bristle as we spied on shepherds and guards. Unlike my brothers and friends, I had always admired such
free-spirited souls. My mind was
already prepared for the daring and dash of soldiery—as a scribe and
interpreter, of course. I had
never really believed I might wield a sword. I was, after all, a Jew, and the whole idea was quite
absurd. And yet, in my dreams,
astride by great white horse, I held a spear and there was a gladius on my hip.
These thoughts, with a tinge of misgivings, mingled with memories of my family
and the exploits I had with my brother Simon and friends.
As we road silently through town, each of us plunged
into our own thoughts, I felt a deep melancholy that overshadowed my excitement
for the adventure ahead. I knew,
at this stage, I could change my mind, but when the journey to Antioch began
for me the next day there might be no turning back. I tried not giving in to my emotions but when we reached the
fork in Sepphoris’ main road, we could see in the distance the wooden fortress
of the Galilean Cohort. My eyes
filled with tears and heart swelled in my chest. The great camp lie eastward off the main highway to
Jerusalem, while the smaller, southern road, would take my father and oldest
brother back to Nazareth—my beloved town.
After climbing off my mount, I wept in Papa’s strong arms. Rubrius and Dracho, who waited at a
distance, sat uneasily on their horses, snarling with disdain. I had shrunk to a small child when I
wondered if I would ever see my father again. He worked too hard and worried too much. He drank too much wine. When I embraced Jesus, I felt a strange
peace and strength returned to my limbs, though my thoughts were in turmoil.
“Remember Jude,” he whispered solemnly, “learn the
heart of the Gentiles. Also
remember this: you can be in the world but you don’t have to be part of it.”
“What is all that nonsense Jesus,” I said, giving
him a fierce hug. “Heart of the Gentiles?
Be in the world, but not a part of it? I’m going to be working for the Romans, who love to eat pork
and have, in the past, crucified thousands of Jews.”
“You will know exactly what I mean when the times
comes,” he explained softly. “You have a nearly perfect memory. So I place this information, along with
all the other information given to you, in your mind. One day, when your knowledge of the Gentile world is great
and you’ve had enough of their world, you shall return, but not before.” “All
of this was foreordained by God, no less than what I must one day do.”
“Hey,” Rubrius called impatiently, “daylight is
slipping away. Finish your
goodbyes and lets hit the road.”
Papa set the example, after giving me one more
fatherly pat on the shoulder and climbed onto this mount. The fortress awaited. Papa called to Jesus to mount his mule.
“Jesus, my brother,” I murmured for only his ears,
“of all the people I will ever know, I love you the most. If, for some reason, I never return to
Nazareth and my family, remember that.”
Jesus’ parting words gave me courage and resolve, at
least for a while.
“You have been my favorite brother,” he announced in
a booming voice, “but you are much more now. You are the brother of my spirit, tied by prophecy and
revelation. Someday you’ll
understand everything. At that
point, when I call you, you must return.
Right now take this thought with you: you have been chosen to do
this. God has selected you. He will protect you everywhere you
go. In my prayers I shall watch
over you too, just like I’ve always done.
Go in peace Judah bar Joseph.
Watch, listen, and learn!”
All his strange
words meant little to me, yet he could not have given me a greater
farewell. Though we would be
separated by many Roman miles, Jesus, my brother, would watch over me. What a strange, wonderful thing to
say. After I climbed back on my
steed, I raised my arm in salute, bringing it down afterwards into a clinched
fix against my chest. It was, this
time, both a Jewish and Roman salute.
I sat a moment longer, as Jesus turned around in the saddle to give me
one more burning gaze. Papa rode
slumped in his saddle behind the two impatient guards. After watching the silhouettes of the
four riders disappear south, their backs to the sun, I gripped my reigns, gave
my mule a gentle brush of the whip, and galloped into a new chapter of my life.
Book Three / Return to Table of Contents / Writer’s Den