Daughter of Cana Read online

Disbelief struggled with horror on Jude’s face. “Antipas executed a prophet at a banquet?”

  When the woman dissolved into fresh tears, another man, presumably her husband, stepped forward. “Antipas had invited all his officials and military commanders to the dinner. That odious wife of his commanded her young daughter to dance for him, and the girl pleased Antipas. Wanting, no doubt, to appear generous before his guests, he promised the girl he’d grant her request, no matter what she wanted. She asked for the head of John the Immerser on a platter.”

  I gasped and Joanna fainted. Jude and I hastened to attend to her. When she finally opened her eyes, she sat up and ripped the neckline of her tunic in grief. “My poor Chuza,” she said, tears streaming over her cheeks. “He is surely suffering over this.”

  “He must be accustomed to Antipas,” Jude said. “Surely he has learned to mask his revulsion.”

  “He has,” she whispered, her voice raw. “But what did John do to deserve such a fate? He spoke the truth, he called people to repent, and for that he lost his head?”

  “The sin should be charged to Herodias,” the man said, his voice rough with disgust. “The girl was merely a pawn in that woman’s hands.”

  Jude and I helped Joanna to her feet. She walked directly to the weeping woman and put her arms around her. “I met him,” Joanna whispered, her voice broken. “My husband and I were at the river when John baptized Yeshua of Nazareth. I am now on my way to find Yeshua and offer my service to his cause.”

  The other woman swiped tears from her cheeks. “Do you think he could use another pair of hands? I was a friend to Elizabeth, John’s mother. Now I would willingly serve Yeshua.”

  A thoughtful smile curved Joanna’s mouth. “What is your name? Would your husband come, too?”

  The woman managed a trembling smile. “That is my brother, not my husband. I am Susanna, and a widow. I would gladly go with you.”

  Joanna’s hand slid into Susanna’s. “Come with us and we will find him.”

  Two things struck me in that moment—first, that Susanna’s brother was by her side, comforting her, while my twin was nowhere to be found. Second, that our traveling party seemed to be growing by the hour.

  I looked to see if Jude shared my surprise, yet he seemed unaware that we had gained another traveler. He stood by himself in the road, eyes down and brow furrowed, clearly thinking hard about something.

  I learned what had occupied his thoughts when we neared the city gates. As we walked amid a crowd of those who sang the traditional songs of ascent, Jude pulled me aside. “You do realize,” he whispered, “that my brother no longer puts his followers in danger of prison or censure—now their very lives are at stake. Antipas executed John. How long before he or the procurator decides to execute Yeshua?”

  I blanched. “Rome has seen so-called messiahs before. Usually these men and their movements fade away.”

  “Not without a confrontation of some sort,” Jude responded. “Remember Judas the Galilean? The Egyptian? And there are the lestes—I’m surprised they have not already infiltrated Yeshua’s group. They are eager to shake off the Roman harness, and if they think Yeshua could lead a rebel army”—his mouth spread in a thin-lipped smile—“they will persuade others to follow him. When the Romans intervene, they will happily die, seeing themselves as martyrs.”

  I frowned. “Thomas will not want to be a martyr. I do not know anyone more sensible. He cannot make a decision until he has investigated every option. He cannot purchase a cow until he has seen the sire and dam. He would not buy a house until he checked the foundation and the roof—”

  “Thomas may soon be so committed he cannot withdraw,” Jude said, a muscle twitching at his jaw. “I only hope my brother has the good sense to realize he may be attracting men who would rather fight than fade away.”

  We entered Jerusalem, but despite our inquiries, all we found of Yeshua and his followers were rumors, questions, and accusations. Thousands of people still thronged the city, so we moved carefully over the cobblestone streets, dragging our recalcitrant donkey through groups of pedestrians, narrow alleys, and open courtyards. Everywhere we went, people were talking about the incident at the Temple and asking questions about Yeshua. Some speculated that he was Elijah, come to fulfill the prophecy of Malachi; others said he was John the Immerser, somehow escaped from prison. Some claimed Yeshua was a prophet; others insisted he had come to free Israel from Roman rule.

  The last rumor strummed a shiver from me as I remembered Jude’s dire prediction. How well did Yeshua know the men following him? Did he speak to them individually, test their hearts to know if their motives were pure? Thomas was a righteous man, if momentarily misguided, but what of the others? My mind kept returning to the night we met Zebedee, who said Yeshua met his sons, said, “Follow me,” and they dropped their nets in obedience. Didn’t Yeshua want to know what sort of men they were before issuing his invitation? And from where did he get such powers of persuasion?

  The people of Jerusalem were also talking about John the Immerser. The Temple authorities remained silent on the subject of his execution, because, it was rumored, they didn’t know whether to mourn him as a prophet or condemn him as a lunatic. And yet they could not deny his popularity among the people. John was one of the few leaders in Israel who had been willing to expose sin no matter where he found it—in Antipas’s palace, among the leaders of the Sanhedrin, or in Rome.

  I had never seen the city more divided. Public opinion varied widely even regarding the villains of John’s story. Some said young Salome had played the part of a wanton seductress and danced like a harlot; others said the girl was little more than a child and completely innocent of John’s death. Only one report went undisputed: Herodias had definitely initiated the girl’s request for John’s head, and the daughter had—whether easily or reluctantly—obeyed her mother’s command.

  We heard that Antipas was truly upset by John’s execution, though he took pains to remain composed while in view of his wife and his guests. “But I know,” Joanna told us as we broke bread that night, “Antipas admired John a great deal. When he summoned Manaen and Chuza to report on their visit to the Jordan, Antipas listened to them, then said he would like to meet the prophet himself. Once John was finally brought before him, Antipas asked him several insightful questions. He did not seem to grasp John’s message, but he could find no fault in him. He did nothing to deserve execution.”

  Jude sipped from his cup and looked around at our group—a grandfather and granddaughter, Joanna and Susanna, a little boy and me. He lifted his head, like a dog scenting the breeze, then announced that we would begin our return to Galilee on the morrow. “I am sorry to disappoint you,” he said, smiling without humor. “We have come a long way and have nothing to show for our efforts. If the rumors are true, Yeshua and his followers are traveling north. If HaShem wills, we may spot them on the road. But if we do not, I am sure we all have work waiting for us. You are free to do whatever suits you best.”

  A man sitting at a table near us turned at the sound of Jude’s voice. “Shalom,” he said, looking us over. “I could not help overhearing that you are looking for Yeshua.”

  Jude nodded. “We were.”

  “I know,” the man said, “where he was going.”

  Joanna released an involuntary squeak. “Where?”

  “Nazareth.” The man smiled at her. “He plans to speak in the synagogue on the Sabbath.”

  Jude shook his head. “Full circle,” he murmured, catching my gaze. “I should have waited for him at the house.”

  A thrill ran through my senses. Yeshua and his followers were going home. Perhaps I would walk into my house and see Thomas sitting with Abba. He would tell me he had come to his senses and would never leave again.

  I looked at Jude. “So we are going back?”

  He nodded. “We are going home.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Tasmin

  Jude was true to his word. The first pale
hint of sunrise had only brushed the eastern sky when I heard movement outside the women’s chamber. I rose, packed my few belongings, scooped up the boy, and stepped outside to meet Jude. To my surprise, Ziv was already beside the donkey, adjusting the pack saddle while Rahel waited.

  “I am sorry, Ziv,” I said, shifting the boy to my hip, “that we were not able to find help for your granddaughter.”

  The old man’s eyes filled with tears as he nodded. “It is as HaShem wills,” he said, placing a folded blanket on the saddle. “Blessed be the name of the Lord.”

  I sighed, realizing that more appropriate words had never been spoken. If we had found Yeshua and he failed to cure the girl of her fits, what would Ziv feel then? His disappointment would be a thousand times worse.

  “Will you go home now?” I asked. “Or—”

  “I’m going to Galilee with you.” Ziv placed his hand on Rahel’s head. “I will find Yeshua or die on the journey.”

  I lifted a brow, then smiled and moved away. Susanna and Joanna would continue with their search for Yeshua, of course, but what should we do about the boy?

  Jude appeared out of the shadows and nodded a greeting as Joanna and Susanna followed him.

  “The innkeeper’s wife has given us food,” Joanna said, nodding at the basket in her arms. “Since you are anxious to be under way, we can eat as we walk.”

  I peeked in the basket and spied bread, cheese, salted fish, and eggs. The boy would like the eggs, for they were soft and easy to swallow.

  “That’s it, then.” Jude took a last look around, then helped Rahel mount the donkey. “On to the Temple, and then we will leave the city.”

  I was about to place the boy in front of Rahel but then hesitated when prickles of uneasiness nipped at the back of my neck. “Why do we need to go to the Temple?”

  Jude eyed me with a curious expression. “The boy, of course. You said we could leave him with the priests if we did not find a home for him.”

  My uneasiness swelled into alarm. I could not deny what I had said, but that idea no longer seemed reasonable or right. I could no more leave the boy with a stranger than I could cut off my own arm. Neither, though, could I raise him. I was an unmarried woman who knew nothing about children or motherhood.

  “We still have the return journey,” I said, settling the boy on my hip again. “And you yourself said we might find Yeshua on the way. If he can’t help the boy, surely one of his followers could provide him a better home than the Temple priests.”

  “As you wish.” A smile played briefly on Jude’s lips before he turned and led the donkey toward the street and the city gates.

  Once we were out of Jerusalem, we set as quick a pace as our weaker members would allow. Joanna and Susanna had formed a solid friendship, and I listened halfheartedly as they discussed husbands and homes, baking and sewing. Susanna confessed that when her husband died, he left her a valuable estate that allowed her to travel wherever she pleased.

  Ziv and his granddaughter were not wealthy, the old man told me, though he had managed to set aside a few coins for their journey. “I have long waited for Israel’s redemption,” he said, “and I would walk from Tyre to the Dead Sea to find our promised messiah.”

  “But how do you know the messiah can help Rahel?” I asked. “I know some believe Yeshua is the promised king from David’s house, but—”

  “‘Bless Adonai, O my soul,’” Lev said, reciting a psalm I knew well. “‘He forgives all your iniquity. He heals all your diseases. He satisfies your years with good things, so that your youth is renewed like an eagle.’” He smiled at me as if I were a small child. “If our messiah is from HaShem, how could he not help Rahel?”

  Since I could not argue with the Scripture, I remained silent.

  A long stretch of wilderness lay between Jerusalem and Lebonah. We were not alone on the road—other pilgrims were walking home, as well. Life had returned to normal, and often fast-moving horses and heavily loaded wagons forced us to the side of the pavement as they blew by. Once I heard a man laugh as he galloped past us, and the dark sound of his laughter chilled my bones. When I looked up, I could see nothing of the rider but his striped head-covering and the back of his tunic.

  After the energy of the morning wore off, we walked mostly in silence, each of us preoccupied with our thoughts. I did not know Susanna well enough to know what caused a frown line to appear between her brows, but with one look at Joanna I knew she was grieving John the Immerser. For her sake, I hoped we would soon find Yeshua, so she could set her grief aside and put her hands to useful work.

  Ziv and his granddaughter walked ahead of me. Rahel must have been glad to be heading home, for she seemed more animated than usual, looking for birds and trying to name them as they flew overhead. Apparently Ziv had spent a great deal of his life in the wilderness, as he seemed to know the name of every bush, tree, and creature we saw. His granddaughter obviously adored him, and I wondered about her parents. Did they think Ziv was foolish for taking her to see a would-be messiah, or were they quietly hoping and praying for a miracle?

  Jude, leading the donkey up front, was doubtless planning the magnificent bed he and his brothers would build for the wealthy merchant. Several times during the journey I caught him drawing sketches in the sand, and though sand was not the best medium for communicating a creative idea, even I could see that the bed would be worthy of a king. The joy of fulfilling an artistic vision, coupled with the generous monetary reward, provided more than enough motivation to go after a much-needed brother.

  I glanced at the boy on the donkey. The child rode like a sultan now, his legs expertly bent over the pack saddle, his back straight, his eyes on the road ahead. He had even woven his fingers in the donkey’s short mane to maintain his seat. “You are a fast learner,” I told him, my heart overflowing when he answered with a lopsided smile. “What a good boy you are!”

  I had made no inquiries about a home for the child, not because I wanted to take him, but because I had begun to see him as a test for Yeshua. A trickster or charlatan would have a difficult time concealing the sort of disfigurement that afflicted the boy. But if Yeshua could heal this child of a deformity that had tormented him since birth, then perhaps Yeshua was more than an ordinary man.

  As darkness rose up from the earth, filling first the ridges by the roadside, then the shadows beneath the shrubs, we decided to spend the night under the stars. Jude said he would rest easier if we made camp on a high point, so we set our sights on the crest of a hill that lay ahead on the road. As the swollen sun dropped toward the shimmering horizon, I focused on the line where the road met the sky, the place where we could finally turn aside and take a much-needed rest. I was ready to close my eyes and surrender to exhaustion, forgetting everything for a few hours.

  We had nearly reached our destination. Forcing myself to hold my head erect, I placed my heavy hand on the donkey’s back, ready to pull the boy off and lay him on my blanket. I knew I would be asleep before my head touched the earth. Weariness engulfed my body. My legs moved on their own volition, my mouth tasted like grit and sand . . .

  A shrill scream sliced through my stupor. The sound was so unexpected, so out of place, it seemed to go straight to the center of my head. I blinked, and when I looked up at the road, I saw a line of mounted men with fabric wrapped around their heads and heavy clubs in their hands.

  I knew immediately who they were: lestes.

  And they were waiting for us.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jude

  My stomach lurched at the blood-curdling sound. Ahead, silhouetted by the setting sun, stood a line of armed bandits, and I knew I could not hope to win a fight against them. Like jackals, they had lain in wait along this desert road, hoping for a group like ours—only one young man to guard an old man, women, and children. They could beat us into submission without even dismounting.

  I turned to face the frightened people under my protection. “Women, scatter into the brush, hi
de as best you can. Ziv, take your granddaughter and see if she can climb yonder tree. Tasmin, take the boy, hide him, and then run away. Do not return until you hear nothing from this spot.”

  Pulling my staff from the pack saddle—the only weapon I had—I crouched to face those who would attack us. Leering like demons, the lestes galloped down the hill, leaning to the sides of their saddles, displaying their athletic prowess as they brandished their clubs. Behind me, I heard the sound of breathless running, frantic scrambling, and a bewildered bray from the donkey. Someone must have pulled the beast off the road to prevent him from being stolen.

  I alone remained in the road. One stick against half a dozen.

  I grimaced as the thundering hooves stormed closer. My coins—all that remained of the two talents from the merchant—were hidden in the hem of my tunic. If they found the money, I would lose nearly everything we had to buy materials for the merchant’s anniversary gift. My brothers and I would have to make a bed out of the few planks of cedar and sandalwood I had already ordered.

  On they came, the center man rushing toward me, club in hand, and though I tried to dodge the blow, it crashed into my face, sending a shower of dancing lights through my head. My mouth opened in a scream, but there wasn’t enough air in my lungs to push sound out of my throat. I fell backward, dimly aware of churning hooves, dust, and rough men spinning and laughing and dismounting.

  Sandaled feet and rough pieces of timber walked toward me. Someone called me an unspeakable name, then a club struck my stomach, forcing the remaining air from my lungs. I tried to inhale but couldn’t as a blow to my rib cage made pain rise inside me like flames, flinging sparks in every direction.

  My eyelids fluttered, and as color ran out of the world, I twisted my head and saw one thing clearly—the face of the one-eyed eunuch.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Tasmin

  Run! Obeying Jude’s instruction, I held the boy close to my breast, lowered my head, and ran into the wilderness, dodging bushes, leaping over holes, trying not to stumble over broken branches and wayward rocks.