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Chapter Seventeen
Voice in the Desert
That hour, as I lie down next to my friend, I prayed
for Caesarius’ health, the safety of our shrinking band, and a speedy arrival
at Antioch were I would join the legions or return home. As I slept, I dreamed I was back in
Nazareth again, this time alone, walking on the path that leads to Jesus’
favorite spot. As I looked out
upon the plain of Galilee, I heard a voice shout “Be strong, keep your courage,
and remember that you’re faith will shield you, no matter what you see or
hear. Fear not Judah bar Joseph:
tonight your real journey begins!”
Jolted by these troubling words, I looked up at the
darkening sky and ran down the trail, filled with foreboding. When I awakened, sweating in the humid
heat, I expected our camp to be overrun by nomads and utter chaos all around,
but the surrounding scene was peaceful, though uncomfortably warm, and the sun
was just setting behind a distant hill.
Despite this calm, I knew what was going to happen. Rising up quickly and bracing myself on
the side of the well, I tried not to awaken poor Caesarius or the other
sleeping men. Just that moment,
however, as I decided what to do—alarm the entire camp or talk discreetly to
the optio, Decimus walked up to me, a tired smile on his face.
“Look at the workmanship,” he whispered, inspecting
the wooden rim and stone base. “I assumed this was Roman. Now I’m certain!”
“Really?” I
sighed, glancing at the well. I
could care less at this point.
Decimus was exhausted. His
hands trembled as he placed them the rim.
Following his fingers to a small inscription not readily apparent, I saw
Roman numerals and the S.P.Q.R. seen on Roman standards. This struck me as absurd. In the Kafars’ oasis it was quite out
of place.
“That look familiar, lad?”
“Yes,” I tried sounding enthusiastic. “The numerals
indicate the date, and the letters stand for Senatus
Populusque Romanus: the Senate and the Roman people.”
“Right!” he slapped my shoulder. “You
amaze me Thaddeus. With the greatest optimism, it was built by Roman engineers
when this highway was made.” “That proves,” he said, leading me out of earshot
of the sleepers, “Abinadad’s claim was false. This station belongs to Rome. It’s beside the point, of course. We have to leave soon, but that inscription proves that
Nabataen dog was lying.”
“Sir...Decimus,” I stammered, “I had another
dream...”
“Now, Thaddeus,” he groaned, “no more of this—”
“A voice warned me that something dreadful is going
to happen...”
“Thaddeus, please—”
“It’s going to happen tomorrow...”
“Tomorrow?” the optio laughed sourly. “We’re going
to be on the road tomorrow, putting distance between ourselves and those
jackals after traveling in the night.
We know there’s danger, Thaddeus.
We don’t need your god to tell us that.” “What will be, will be,” he
added, spreading his palms. “Your
last prediction made good sense to Aulus and me, but the other men resent your
predictions. After doing all that
work back there then winding up on the outs with the men in white, we’re no
better off than before. Calling
everything that happens a miracle doesn’t help. To most of the men Thaddeus, it appears as if your god is
stingy with his miracles. Why are
there four dead men now? Who
would’ve guessed we’d be attacked crossing the desert? I made a terrible decision, yet your
god was silent. When that
rockslide forced us to travel the desert, why didn’t he give us a sign? Where was your god then?”
“It’s not all or none, Decimus,” I argued gently.
“God is unknowable. More often he
lets us make our own decisions.
Though I find it hard to believe, myself, I heard a voice this time and
plain, unambiguous words. We must
not wait until the waning moon; we must leave in the early evening to allow us
time to arrive at safer ground.”
The optio looked at me in disbelief. “Are you
daffed? Those men are
exhausted. I’m
exhausted. We need some
sleep. You need some
sleep. You’re not thinking
correctly, Thaddeus. Stop having
these foolish dreams. I believe
events, both good and bad, are caused by men, not the gods. If your god is so helpful, why’re you a
conquered people? You Jews have
remained under the boot of one nation after another. What has your all-powerful god ever done for the Jews? I can’t explain your so-called
miracles. Strange things have
happened to you that you think were caused by your god. All I know is that I can’t trust
him. Now you’re telling me that we
face another disaster? When will
it stop, Thaddeus? What your
telling me now, if I choose to believe it, is hopeless. We can’t make it through the desert in
our present shape. What was the
point of even telling me this?”
“I’m sorry,” I
said, hanging my head, “I was just trying to help. I wish He’d leave me alone.”
“Your invisible god really gave you this
message?” Decimus raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.” I shrugged my shoulders. “I’ve had visions
for many years, but this time a voice spoke plainly to me.”
I struck me that moment that he half believed
me. He had lodged a complaint
about God; he never said he didn’t believe him. Like most soldiers, he was just superstitious enough to also
accept half of the truth, but was too stubborn to acknowledge my invisible and
unknowable god. Had my god sat on
a pedestal and been carved in stone, with a proper name like Jupiter or Baal,
it would make more sense to his logical mind. I had tried. I
had failed. The voice promised me
I would survive tomorrow’s attack.
What worried me was what might happen to the others during the noise and
carnage that followed. That
evening, after I had shared our rations of bread and dates with Caesarius,
Rufus, and Ibrim, I relieved Abzug of his watch, taking my turn watching the
horses and mules. Meanwhile,
Ibrim, Rufus, and the ailing Caesarius patrolled the oasis’ perimeter. Decimus, after all was said and done,
turned out to be just another typical hard-bitten Roman soldier. I was torn by what I knew and his
fatalistic response. I was also
worried about Caesarius. I prayed
those hours for our group, but it wouldn’t change God’s will. My efforts to convince the optio this
time had been unsuccessful...It was now up to the Lord.
******
During
the long hours, I paced back and forth on my watch, taking time to water the
horses and pack animals and give them all as much grass I could forage from the
forest meadow. Jesus had taught me
how special were all of God’s creatures.
I cringed, as he did, at the thought of the temple sacrifices, and I had
always had special compassion for horses and mules. As I caressed my own mule, I was reminded how much more
difficult this journey was for him, and yet the horses and mules might be
better off if the nomads did, in fact, raid us tonight. They would be sold to merchants or used
in the desert people’s camps. At
least they would be properly watered and fed and wouldn’t wind up becoming
bleached bones in the sand. Rufus
and Ibrim, who patrolled the perimeter, checked on me a few times during my
watch. We chatted a spell about
the journey so far and our prospects for survival. Though there was a note of humor in the little Arab’s tone,
the Gaul was deadly serious.
Rufus, like Decimus, was fatalistic. “No one could know the future,” he had said grimly, “not men
nor the gods.” For Ibrim, it
depended upon the whim of the jinns.
I felt worse after their visit, realizing that everyone in our group
probably shared their mood. It
might have dulled my wits, but I could have used a flask of wine during my
watch. As I waited for the waning
moon, numb with fear and indecision, I was surprised to hear Decimus voice:
“Up, rise, get on your feet. We
must put distance between ourselves and this place!”
My
words seemed to have had an effect upon the optio! I tried not to make eye contact with him and appear to
gloat, but I was greatly relieved by this news, and I ran to discuss it with
Caesarius. In a way I was filled
with misgivings. For the old man,
who needed more rest, this was bad news.
Everyone would be irritable.
If they found out this was my idea, I would fall even lower in their
esteem. We would be riding in the
darkness again, guided by torchlight into unknown country with the possibility
of running into more nomads up ahead.
“Are
we in danger?” I heard Abzug ask.
“I
didn’t say that.” Decimus replied.
“Why can’t we wait for the moon?” Fronto asked
groggily. “It’ll be many hours until sunrise. Those buggers are afraid of the dark.”
“Precisely,” Decimus clapped his hands. “We’ll have
the jump on those superstitious dogs.
Get your heads straight, make water, and be in your the saddles within
the hour.”
“You forget,” I heard Aulus say, as I searched for
Caesarius, “most of these men are superstitious too. It makes it that much harder for them to ride in the night.”
“It’s fear of the jinn,” explained Ibrim. “The jinn
commit mischief at night.”
“It’s not the jinn,” Aulus snapped, “and it’s not
the gods, it’s men!”
“There are no gods,” grumbled Rufus.
“Caesarius!” I called through cupped hands.
“Keep it down, Thaddeus,” scolded Decimus, “let’s
not push our luck.”
When I found Caesarius, he was already by his mule,
brushing the animal with palm bark.
For a man who killed many men, most recently Jews, I was moved by this
gesture. His reputation belied the
gentle soul I had come to know. I
was heartened to see him up and about, ready for another lap. He had lost much weight, his face
looked haggard and his hands trembled continually, and yet the gleam in his
eyes was encouraging. The old
veteran appeared to have one last surge of energy, which I prayed would last
him until we reached Raphana. When
we were safe in that city, I would try to talk him into staying put, not that
he would listen. After all, who
would hire a broken down old soldier.
He would, as in Antioch, unless he could obtain a menial job, be forced
to begging. I didn’t envy him for
his future. He was my friend. I just wanted him to live.
“Are you all right?” I placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Good as expected,” he grunted, as I helped him onto
his mule. “Are you ready to travel, Thaddeus?” he asked, settling into his
saddle.
“Ready as ever.” I smiled bravely. “We’re traveling
in the middle of the night.”
“Did you eat something lad? We’re not stopping for awhile.”
“Yes, I ate.
It didn’t stay down.”
“Did you fill your flask?”
“Uh huh, two of them”
“Did you make water and do your business?”
“Several times.” I laughed, climbing onto my mule.
“Too many dates and dried fruit.”
“You’re scared Thaddeus; we’re all scared.”
As he went down the list of traveling
necessities—sword, dagger, shovel, and blanket... the other men were climbing
onto to their mounts and being asked the same question by Decimus. Rufus and Abzug appeared suddenly in
front of me, wide-eyed, tightly clutching their reins. Behind Caesarius and me were Apollo and
Ajax, grumbling under their breaths, while Front and Ibrim, bringing up the
rear, sat quietly on their mounts, and Aulus and the optio, both holding
torches, rode at the head of the procession but as our journey began north,
took turns riding in the front and in the back of the procession. Everyone had double-strapped their
reins on one hand in case they fell asleep during the trip. Because the moonlight was brighter than
expected, a third and fourth torch were not yet needed. Looking back at the dark silhouette of
the palms, myrtle, and acacia trees, I shuddered at the prospect of
encountering those men again. That
idyllic refuge belied the dangers of the desert. To allay our fears, the optio talked in a low voice to the
men.
Fronto asked a question on all our minds, “Why are
the desert people angry with the Romans?
It couldn’t just because of a couple of dead men; it has to be something
more serious.”
“I don’t know,” Decimus chose his words carefully,
“it might be that murder in Raphana, but that wouldn’t explain why the Arabs
attacked us the way they did. It
seems to be all of them now.
Frankly, I think the Roman highway cut through this desert was a big mistake. The desert people are very
independent. They’ve never
knuckled under to Roman rule.”
As Decimus held his torch, the glow on his beefy
jowls and sparkling dark eyes, reminded me of the Romans I saw riding through
Nazareth past my home. The torchlight
made Decimus and Aulus look fierce and other-worldly. I wondered if this was how those poor Canaanites felt when
Joshua and his warriors used this ruse.
A change had already begun in me in spite of my recent actions and
words. After killing all those
men, righteous kill or not, I knew I could do it again. Apollo had told me that each time you
killed a man it was easier the next time.
Apollo had been right, and so had Aulus, who told me not to attempt to
wound a man, for a wounded foe was sometimes more dangerous than one
whole. You must kill him before he
kills you, he had said with great conviction. Joshua, Gideon, and David had learned this, and they grew to
be fearless in battle. The Lord
was with them. Though I would
never compare myself to our people’s heroes, I knew that the Lord was with me
too...so far!
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