Rebekah's Treasure (51 page)

“As usual, you’ve left a wake of dead bodies behind,” Josiah says with a grin as he walks toward me in full leather armor and a belted sword, and looking disappointed he won’t need to use it. A string of over fifty men follow behind, including Skaris. I’ve been watching their approach for several minutes.

“And you, as
usual
, are late, arriving only after all the hard work is done.” I clasp his arm in friendship, glad to see him. “What delayed you?”

“That Thracian, Skaris, and the ragged group of men you sent have never been to Masada, and lost their way. They only arrived late yesterday. We marched part of the night and all morning to get here.
I should have known that you and your sons were more than able to handle things. I only pray your enemy, Lamech, is among those scattered in the dirt.”

“He is.”

Josiah cocks his head and frowns. “But you do not rejoice?”

“I have better things to rejoice over.” I glance at Aaron who is talking to Rebekah and Benjamin. Was it only moments ago that he rose from the dead? I still don’t know what to make of it, though years ago I witnessed many of Jesus’ miracles, including the raising of Lazarus.

“Yes, I see your wife is safe and well,” Josiah says, misunderstanding. “Skaris has told me all. These men,” he says, spitting on the ground and gesturing toward the lifeless bodies still sprawled in the dirt, “died too easily. Their clean wounds tell me they suffered little.” He signals for his men to collect them. “Robbers and thieves, a disgrace to our race, just like the
sicarii
, those dagger men who live among us and behave like wild beasts. But never mind. I rejoice over your good fortune.
Hashem
has been kind to you. ”

I nod. He didn’t know the half of it. But how can I explain? Though Josiah saw Jesus’ miracles, too, he considers Him a charlatan.

“And
Hashem
has been kind to us as well. I passed the broken jar of silver. Even now my men are preparing it for transport back to Masada.”

“There’s another like it. I’ll show you.”

Josiah slaps my back good naturedly. “What luck! If you keep providing us with treasure like this, our fight can go on forever.”

His words are like a blade in my heart.
Go on forever . . . on forever . . . forever
.

“And I’ve heard about Esther. You are twice blessed, my friend.
Hashem
has safely delivered both your wife and daughter into your hands.” Josiah frowns. “Still, you cannot be pleased that a Greek has caught Esther’s eye.” He laughs when he sees the surprise on my face. “I told you Skaris has revealed all. But fear not, once you and your family have moved to Masada, we’ll take care of that. There are many worthy
young men who would look kindly on your daughter, and they are all
Jews
.”

An uneasiness creeps over me. Is it really wise to separate Esther from Demas now? Especially since he has been the instrument of her healing—at least the beginning of her healing—he and
Hashem
, both? Demas had a way with Esther, and at times was the only one she would talk to. She was still struggling over losing Daniel and over what happened to her at the hands of those two drunken Romans. Demas could draw her out like no other. And he was more than a Greek. He was a follower of The Way. Esther could do worse.

“What is it, my friend?” Josiah says, placing his hand on my shoulder. “With all your blessings why do you look so troubled?”

“I have much to think about,” I say, walking away without further explanation.

“I’ll not be going to Masada,” Aaron says. We’re standing by the En Gedi pool where we first made our camp with Titus’s captives, and where the women and a small group of men still remain, having been too feeble to make the forced march with Skaris to Masada when he went for help. The dust of Hyrcania has been washed away and we have regained much of our strength, having done little more than sleep and eat for two days. But unlike when we first camped here, we are overcrowded, for Josiah and his men are here too—resting briefly before journeying on to Masada with their heavy bags of silver.

The faithful waterfall still tumbles from the limestone cliffs above and splashes into the large shimmering pool. Some of Josiah’s men are in the water, making splashes of their own. The rest are lounging on the rock ledge.

“I’m not going to Masada,” Aaron repeats, as if the noise of the water and men had drowned out his original proclamation. “I came to En Gedi only to say goodbye to Esther.”

“I know,” I hear myself saying. The truth is I’ve known since the day Aaron rose from the dead. Still . . . I had hoped I was wrong, for his words pain me. Will I ever see him again? “Where will you go?” I say, picking at the large fern by my side.

“To Ephesus, to study under John the Beloved Apostle, and our friend, Zechariah.”

At the mention of Zechariah’s name, my teeth grind. So . . . that irritant, that man of God, will best me again, this time with my son. Was Zechariah, then, to have the joy and privilege of training Aaron? But training him for what? “I . . . don’t understand.”

“I was dead, Father. Truly
dead
! You saw . . . you know it’s true.” Aaron is almost breathless as if experiencing his death for the second time. “And I saw Him—yes I saw
Jesus
. And He spoke to me, He
spoke
! He said I must fulfill my destiny; that I was to be
His
warrior and fight for
His
kingdom, and that my weapons were not to be sword or dagger, but His Word.
His Word!
He showed me that the road will be difficult. That bitter persecution was coming to the followers of The Way, and that I was to help prepare them.” His face is tender and eager, but determined, too.

“What of your pledge to Eleazar?” I say, still hoping to deter him. Still hoping to keep him close. “Would you toss it aside as if it were nothing?”

“Little treasure remains hidden that is not under the nose of the Romans. You and I well know that it would take an army to retrieve it. My conscience is clear.”

My lips purse. I suddenly feel weary of life, where all is suffering and loss.
How could I bear losing Aaron
? “And your people? Are you content to leave them under Roman bondage? To be sold in the slave markets of the world? Our women raped? Our men crucified? Are you content to live life in Ephesus while such things go on here?” I glance at Aaron. His eyes are so full of tenderness I have to look away or I won’t be able to deliver my final blow. “Are you willing to forget how they crucified your
brother
, Abner? How they raped your
sister
?”

Aaron sighs and leans against the rock wall. The large fern partially shades his face. “I haven’t forgotten, Father. I pray continually for Esther. She is in God’s hands. Even now, He is healing her. I see a great change, and even joy. And Abner? I know how hard his death was on you. But the specter of death has always been a soldier’s constant companion, and we all knew that the Romans would punish their captured rebels with crucifixion. But what of that other crucifixion? The one you saw long ago, where One who was innocent was crucified for
our
rebellion. Don’t you think His Father looked down and wept, too? Don’t you think it broke His heart? I’m going to Ephesus, Father, and nothing you say will change my mind. Please don’t try. Rather, give me your blessing.”

I shake my head. “I cannot. I’m sorry, Aaron, but I cannot.”

“Aaron leaves tomorrow,” Rebekah says, dangling her hand in the water beside me.

I notice, with some irritation, that she’s the picture of tranquility itself.

“Demas will travel with him as far as Pella,” she adds. “It’s a comfort to know Aaron will have a companion on the road, at least for part of the way.”

I sit glumly by the small pool of our trysting place. This time I know the area is secure having had it thoroughly searched by Josiah’s men. Still, I’m ill at ease, restless, and my heart is as heavy as the stone in my hand. I suppose I should take comfort in the fact that Rebekah does not chide me about separating Esther and Demas, even though Esther has done nothing but cry, and Demas walks around like a man lost in a sandstorm.

A soft breeze plays with the strands of Rebekah’s cropped hair. She no longer tries to hide it from me, perhaps because it’s growing as fast as tamarisk sprouts, and because she knows she’s still beautiful, despite professing otherwise. She’s lying by the pool’s edge and periodically
scoops a handful of water, then watches it leak between her fingers. My irritation mounts. How can she be so peaceful?

“You must know that Esther blames you for making Demas return to Pella, even though it was Josiah who told him he was not welcome at Masada.” Rebekah rolls onto her back and gazes up at the large reeds that surround us. “But you could remedy that by allowing her to go with him to Pella.”

I remain silent. So, I’m to be chided after all.

“I worry about her. She’s still fragile. Do you think it wise to separate them?” Rebekah’s eyes are on me now.

“I don’t know.” My mouth is full of agitation and annoyance. “Our world is crumbling, Rebekah. Am I to worry about a young woman’s infatuation? In time she’ll forget Demas. Someone else will come along. Josiah says there are many eligible men at Masada. And all
Jews
! Surely, you don’t want her to align herself with a Greek!” My voice has become loud and defensive.

“He’s a believer, Ethan. He follows Messiah. I could wish nothing better for her than to find a man who loves and honors the Lord.”

I glare at her. “I suppose you blame me for her unhappiness. As I suppose you blame me for Aaron leaving, and perhaps even for the . . . death of Abner and Joseph? But why stop there? Why not blame me for the destruction of the Temple? Or Jerusalem? And to that, add the slaughter of our people.”

She sits up, sweet faced and full of tenderness, looking much like Aaron when he told me he was leaving. Would she leave me too? And go to that irritant, Zachariah? I recoil, fearing her words, then brace myself, not knowing what to expect.

“I love you,” she says softly. “And I will accept your decision. If you think Demas is unsuitable for Esther, so be it. I’ll not argue for it. But you’ll not change Aaron’s course. It has been set by God.”

I rise to my feet and toss the stone I’m holding into the pond, wishing I could toss my heavy heart in as well. “And Masada? Will you still follow me to Masada?”

She gathers another handful of water and lets it dribble between her fingers. “I’ll follow you wherever God leads.”

Without another word, I turn and walk away. I find no peace in her answer, for it’s really no answer at all, but a question of its own. And what Rebekah was asking was this: where is
God
leading you?