Rebekah's Treasure (32 page)

P
ELLA
/C
AESAREA
M
ARITIMA
70 A.D.

CHAPTER 8

My heart races as I look down into the Jordan Valley and settle my gaze on the city nestled among emerald hills. I picture Rebekah, and imagine her arms around me, her sweet lips covering my face with kisses, her beautiful hair blowing in the breeze. Will she weep? Will she laugh in disbelief? What will she say? Surely she will bless
Hashem
and praise the name of Yeshua.

And what will
I
say? My throat tightens. How will I tell her about Abner and Joseph? How can I relive these sorrows or inflict them on her? I’ve prayed about this for days but am no closer to a remedy, as if there is one. And my dilemma is compounded by my prayer that Esther has not gone to Jerusalem as Josiah claims, when I already know in my heart that she has.

“There, to the left of the wadi, is where the believers live.” Aaron points to a section of Pella whose houses are smaller, more rundown than their counterparts on the other side. “I know a way to bypass the Gentiles. It will avoid trouble.”

We didn’t travel along the coast on the Via Maris as originally planned. Benjamin talked me out of it. Too many Romans, as Josiah warned. And the closer we got to Jerusalem, the thicker they became. Without disguises, we were in danger of being recognized. So we skirted the ruins of the Holy City, and traveled the isolated footpaths of the Judean wilderness instead.

Now Aaron leads us down the slope toward Pella. He’s told me much about this city, about the believers here. It was this telling, this
description of Rebekah and Esther safe among friends that provided my one comfort these many months.

But the war seems far away now as I listen to the bleating of sheep, see the fig trees laden with ripened fruit, smell the aroma of freshly baked bread. And my heart soars as it beats out Rebekah’s name.

“How will you tell Mama about Abner and Joseph?” Benjamin says in that calm, practical way of his, causing my soaring heart to plummet to the ground. And a shrug is the only answer I can manage

“Rebekah!” I shout when we near the small mudbrick house Aaron has lead us to. My breath catches when a woman appears from around the back, her hands caked with dirt. “Rebekah?” I squint against the harsh sun, but even in the glare I can tell the woman is a stranger, someone I’ve never seen before.

She studies us for a moment, then throws up her arms in delight. “Aaron!” She wipes her hands on her tunic, smearing dirt down each side, then scurries to meet us. “Oh, Aaron, we thought you were lost! But God has answered our prayers!” She enfolds Aaron in her arms. “You are one of many friends and relatives He has preserved. Sons, husbands, brothers, uncles, all have been returning to us in small numbers. You are the latest miracle.”

“Where . . . is she?” I stammer like a young bridegroom when the woman releases my son. Before she can answer, Aaron introduces her as Mary, wife of Simon the bottlemaker.

“Rebekah’s not here,” Mary says, peering kindly at my face. “I and others have been tending her gardens and watching the house.” She makes a sweeping motion with her hand. “You’ll find everything in good order.”

“But where is she? Not sick . . . she hasn’t sickened and . . . ?” The word sticks in my throat.
Died
. That was the word I couldn’t say. I’ve seen too much death. Now it’s always the first thing that comes to mind.
’

“Oh, forgive me. Here I’m going on as if you knew her whereabouts. Rebekah has gone to Caesarea by the sea.”

“Caesarea! Now why would she go to Caesarea?” Without meaning to, I sound like a General interrogating an underling.

“Rebekah hoped . . . that is . . . she thought she’d find Esther among Titus’s captives. She planned to purchase her daughter’s freedom.”

I fling curses into the air like pebbles, trying to assail both my disappointment and fear. Mary’s face reddens. I’ve embarrassed her. My sons, too.

“
Father
,” Aaron says softly.

Benjamin puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me.

“How could she put herself in such danger?” My voice still sounds like a blasting trumpet. I, who once commanded armies, am now unable to command my own emotions. “She knows how dangerous the roads are! Why didn’t she wait for us?”

Benjamin tightens his grip on my shoulder. “Father, she could hardly know we were coming.”

Mary, the bottlemaker’s wife, bobs her head up and down like a quail. “Yes, that’s right. She thought you were dead, all of you. Oh, how she grieved! But for Esther’s sake she gathered her strength and courage. The thought of losing her daughter, too, was more than she could bear.”

The woman’s words are like darts in my heart. For the first time I’m forced to consider what life has been like for Rebekah; the uncertainty, the fear, the agony of not knowing what was happening to me, to her sons. The loneliness, the feelings of abandonment. And anger? Was there anger, too? Hadn’t she pleaded for us all to leave Jerusalem?
Together
? She never wanted to go alone, even preferring death in Jerusalem to separation. I knew that. I’ve always known it. But how could I allow my sweet Rebekah and Esther to perish in such a manner?

Still, Rebekah has a keen mind. I’ve always been able to trust her judgment. “It’s not like her to behave so foolishly,” I hear myself bark. “She knows better than to travel alone.”

Mary’s cheeks are as red as pomegranates as she rubs her hands along the sides of her tunic. “She wasn’t alone. Zechariah went with her.”

“
Zechariah
?” I don’t know whether to feel relief that she has a protector or anger that she is alone with another man.

“He is . . . was the elder of our church,” Mary quickly adds. “He’s a godly man who came here from Ephesus, straight from John the Apostle.”

My mind is a grinding wheel, crushing emotions and thoughts together like kernels of wheat. Rebekah believes I’m dead, and has gone off with another man—a godly man, says this bottlemaker’s wife. I’ve seen so-called godly men before. Didn’t Eleazar ben Simon drive them out by the hundreds from the Temple?

But it was
I
who sent her away. Can I now blame her if she has made a new life? Can I blame her if she now has found love with another?
Oh, Rebekah, do you love another?

Maybe if I had come to Pella sooner . . . maybe then Esther wouldn’t have gone to Jerusalem . . . maybe Rebekah wouldn’t be with this man. What kept me? Revenge, as Rebekah claimed? Or duty to
Hashem
and His Temple?
Living stones. We are temples of living stones
. I give my head a shake to dislodge Rebekah’s accusing words.

“How long ago did she leave?” Aaron’s face is taut.

“Less than a week.” Mary turns to me, her fingers picking at her tunic nervously. “But I think you misunderstand. Rebekah and Kyra
both
went with Zechariah.”

Benjamin, my level headed son, laughs. “There is no misunderstanding. We are grateful for Zechariah’s protection. And Kyra’s too, whoever she might be.”

I know what he’s doing. He’s clever, this son of mine, and he understands me well.

Mary quickly explains who Kyra is, and ends by telling us that Argos has also left the city. Then her brows knot. “He made a great display of leaving with three men, spewing outrage and anger, and vowing he would reclaim his runaway slave. But word is, he actually ordered Kyra to escape in order to pursue Rebekah’s cup.”

“Her cup?” Now I am perplexed. Rebekah has always had a high regard for her cup for reasons I well understand and respect, but why would it be worth anything to someone else?

“Her cup has brought many miracles to Pella,” Mary says. “Argos is sick with jealousy, and desires it for himself. The believers here have all been praying much for Rebekah’s safety. Zachariah’s and Kyra’s, too. But now that you’ve come, surely you and your sons will be God’s strong arm, and protect them.”

I bless her for her kindness. And as she exits through the gate in the stone wall, I’m already planning what we must do.

My hand tightens around the hilt of my dagger as I lean against the small open window of Rebekah’s upstairs loft. I’ve been watching the same shadow pass back and forth outside our gate since just before sunrise. Age keeps me from sleeping as soundly as my sons who still lie snoring on the floor. I’ve resisted waking them. The journey here was long and tiring, and tomorrow we leave for Caesarea. But the shadow outside disquiets me, so finally I nudge my sons awake. If trouble is coming we must be prepared.

When they stretch and yawn and open their eyes, I press one finger against my lips and show them the dagger in my hand. Quickly and quietly they rise, then secure their own weapons.

I return again to the window. It’s light enough now to determine that the shadow is a tall, broad man in a Greekish-looking tunic. What could a Greek be doing here? I’m still wondering about this as one by one my sons and I descend the ladder. After Aaron and Benjamin conceal themselves along the wall, I open the door.

“You there,” I shout. “What is the meaning of your presence?” Instead of the man fleeing, like I expected, he opens the gate and steps into our courtyard.

“Are you Ethan, husband of Rebekah the Jewess?” The man yells, clearly hesitant about coming closer.