Daughter of Cana Page 14

  “Run,” he had said, “and don’t return until you hear nothing . . .”

  He had also told me to hide the child first, but I could not leave the boy behind. These men, whoever they were, were not likely to care about the boy. If they found him, they would take one look at that cloven tongue and kill him. And I would not, could not, allow that.

  I ran until I thought my heart would pound out of its cage of ribs, then I turned and hid behind a boulder. I heard nothing—no pounding steps, no hoofbeats, no cries or shouted threats.

  “There now, boy.” I set him on the ground, where he looked up at me with wide eyes and a quivering chin. “Do not cry. HaShem is watching over us.”

  Crouching behind the boulder, I leaned to the side and peered beyond the rim of rock. The invaders had gathered in a circle and were milling around the place where Jude had fallen.

  My panic suddenly turned into a deeper and more immediate fear: what were they doing to Jude? Would they kill him?

  I slapped my hand to my forehead, desperately trying to remember everything I had heard about the lestes. They were more than bandits, because they took pleasure in terrorizing their victims. Many of them were motivated by politics, leading them to attack Romans or Jews who cooperated with Romans.

  So why had they attacked us? We were not allied with Rome. We were simple people, poor and harmless . . .

  I gasped as another thought crashed into my consciousness. Jude and I might be harmless, but Yeshua was not. With every miraculous act and audacious action, his popularity among the common people grew. The authorities had noticed. Perhaps some had heard that Jude was Yeshua’s brother. People had been passing us all day on horseback, so perhaps someone had recognized him. Perhaps this attack was an indirect way of sending Yeshua a message . . .

  I shook my head—the why did not matter now. What mattered was saving Jude and the others.

  I leaned out again and searched the area, looking for Ziv and Rahel, Susanna and Joanna. I spotted Ziv and Rahel hiding behind a tree near the road—apparently they hadn’t managed to run far. Joanna and Susanna had hidden behind a sparse bush farther away, but if I could see their colorful tunics, so could those vile bandits.

  HaShem. I closed my eyes. As you guided Gideon and David, as you used Deborah and Michael—guide my steps, too, Adonai, and direct my path.

  Girding myself with courage, I picked up the baby, set him on my hip, and crept toward the rock where Joanna and Susanna were hiding.

  Joanna whirled around as rocks crunched beneath my sandals, her eyes wide with fear. “Tasmin! You should not be here.”

  “I need you to watch the boy.” I crouched behind the scrawny shrub and placed him in Joanna’s arms, then ran my fingers over his curls. “I’m going down there to make sure they don’t kill Jude. Stay here and stay hidden. Keep the boy quiet.”

  “Jude said you should run.” Susanna looked at me with reproof in her eyes. “How will he feel if you are attacked by these ruffians?”

  “Not as bad as I will feel if they kill him.” I gulped a deep breath, then stood and lifted my chin. If the lestes saw me—when they saw me—I wanted them to see a daughter of Israel who was not afraid.

  I moved straight toward the circle of ruffians, pointedly ignoring Ziv and Rahel’s hiding place as I passed. If any of the lestes turned in my direction, I would not betray the anxious grandfather with a glance.

  As I strode forward, I could clearly see what they were doing. Jude was on the ground, curled up like a sleeping dog, while they kicked and cursed at him. They kept asking questions, but he did not answer.

  I had nearly reached the pavement before one of them looked up. “Orien,” he said, tapping another man’s shoulder.

  The second man pulled out of the circle and turned. I flinched when I recognized the face beneath the striped head-covering.

  “So.” The one-eyed eunuch eased into an oily smile. “I knew you wouldn’t be far away. You two have been inseparable for days.”

  “What do you want?” I asked, trying to be as composed as Herodias, the only woman I knew with ice in her veins. “We are not wealthy people.”

  “Aren’t you?” He opened his palm, showed me a handful of coins, then chose the largest and flipped it into the air, neatly catching it with his other hand. “This is a nice profit for a day’s work.”

  I had no idea where the coins came from, but I would not let him see my surprise. “Take what you have stolen and go.” I crossed my arms. “We are no threat to you.”

  “Indeed, you are not.” He stepped closer, then slipped his arm around my back and drew me to him. “What is your name, pretty one?”

  His sour breath brushed my cheek as he held me tighter. I leaned away, pressing my hands against his chest, but I knew I was no match for his strength. HaShem!

  “Orien!” one of his men called.

  “Hush,” the man replied. “I am sampling the sweets.”

  “I’m—I’m not afraid of you,” I stammered. “You’re a eunuch.”

  He released a bitter laugh as his grip tightened. “I am, but they are not.” He jerked his head toward the men standing behind him—men who were staring at something beyond us, something on the road.

  “Orien, look behind you!”

  The eunuch did not budge, but bent his head to nuzzle my neck. As I struggled, I heard the sound of footsteps and the creak of saddles. Then Jude charged at the eunuch, launching himself at the man’s middle. The eunuch released me, turned, and bent over, clutching his stomach. Jude kicked him in the rear, sending the man to the ground.

  Jude looked at me, his eyes blazing above a bloodied face. “Are you all right?”

  My stomach swayed at the sight of the blood, but I managed to speak: “Behind you!”

  He turned just in time to block the dagger coming at him. He and Orien struggled, a deadly dance marked by blows, slashes, and indiscriminate splatters of spit and blood. Orien trapped Jude, sending him to his knees, and before Jude could regain his feet, the one-eyed eunuch wrapped his arm around Jude’s throat. He brought his dagger to Jude’s neck and grinned at me, then looked past me and his countenance changed. His mouth opened; the dagger fell from his hand as he released Jude and staggered backward, then turned and ran for his mule.

  While Jude held his throat and gasped, I knelt beside him, grateful for whatever had startled the eunuch and his men. When I was sure Jude had not received a fatal wound, I looked at the road behind us and saw no one but Ziv and Rahel, Joanna, Susanna, and the boy emerging from their hiding places.

  “Why did they run?” I looked to the others, then to Jude, yet none of them understood what I meant. “The lestes saw something on the road—something that frightened them away.” I stood and searched the southern horizon. The air had gone shadowy and blue with the approach of dusk, and I saw nothing but wilderness and empty road.

  “Whatever they saw,” Ziv said, resting his age-spotted hands on Rahel’s shoulders, “we must praise HaShem for it.”

  “We should praise him for more than that,” Jude said, pointing to the road.

  I glanced down, and in the fading light of the sun I saw a trail of coins. I looked up to see the look of relief on Jude’s face. “HaShem’s provision?” I said, remembering what he had said when we set out.

  He grinned and knelt to gather the money. “HaShem’s mercy, I would say.”

  Jude was not well. But the next morning he refused to admit he suffered from the prolonged beating he had endured. “We go on,” he said when I suggested we take a day or two for him to recover. “If we want to catch Yeshua in Nazareth, we have to keep going.”

  “We can find Yeshua later,” I told him, firmly pushing him back to his blanket. “He is your brother—do you think he will not speak to you when you finally find him?”

  “You don’t know him,” Jude murmured, but his smile held no malice.

  We camped for two days, resting and living off the wilderness. I knew Joanna was thinking about John the
Immerser when she and Rahel walked through the shrubs looking for food—she brought back a basket of wild locusts and a honeycomb. Though I made a face and refused to eat the insects, Jude, Ziv, and Rahel ate and declared them quite good.

  “Crunchy,” Rahel assured me. “Noisy in your mouth.”

  We set out on the fifth day of the week, hoping to reach Nazareth by the Sabbath. Jude seemed better, and no longer winced with each deep breath. I walked behind him, observing his stride to see if I could detect any weakness in his limbs. Fortunately I could not.

  We were a short distance from Nain, a small village south of Nazareth, when Ziv’s granddaughter stiffened and fell from the donkey, taking the boy with her. I hurried to pick up the boy and checked him for bruises as Joanna, Susanna, and Ziv gathered around the flailing girl. For some reason the donkey began to bray and kick and struggle when the girl fell. Jude gripped the animal’s halter with both hands.

  When I was certain the boy had suffered nothing more than superficial scrapes, I lifted him onto my hip and watched helplessly as the girl convulsed on the ground. “Tasmin,” Joanna called from where she knelt by the girl’s side, “can you get me a stick or something? We must keep her from biting her tongue.”

  “Hold the animal,” Jude said, placing my hand on the halter.

  I set the boy on the ground as Jude stepped off the road and returned a moment later with a branch, which he broke into a piece as long as my hand. I gave him control of the donkey, which calmed once Jude led him a good distance away from Rahel. I knelt by Joanna, the stick in my hand.

  Without warning, Rahel’s wild eyes focused on me. “You seek your brother,” a deep and guttural voice roared, “because you have an unholy love for him. Go ahead, tell them why you want your brother by your side. You want him in your bed!”

  Repulsed and stunned, I recoiled from the girl. Joanna, likewise astonished, lost her grip on Rahel’s arm. The girl, who must have been stronger than she looked, wrenched free of Susanna’s grip and sat up, striking Ziv in the face. The old man staggered and might have collapsed had not Jude intervened, positioning himself between the grandfather and the girl, who had crouched in the middle of the road like a lion about to spring.

  I blinked and scrambled away, terror lodging in my throat. In all my years, I had never seen anything like the scene before my eyes. I had never imagined anything like it.

  “Rahel,” Ziv cried, reaching out to her from behind Jude’s back. “Come back to me!”

  The child—or demon—gnashed its teeth and roared again, then sprang for Jude. His arms shot out to catch her, and she fell against him, limp and unconscious.

  Jude laid the girl on the road, and the rest of us gathered around. A stream of blood ran from Ziv’s nose and dripped onto his beard, a sight that made me feel faint. He paid no attention, but instead bent over Rahel and listened for the sound of breathing.

  I looked at Susanna, Joanna, and Jude and tried to maintain an erect posture. The event had happened so suddenly I had no words to react; then I remembered what the girl had said.

  “It’s not true.” I looked at my friends, desperate to convince them. “What she said about my brother—none of it is true.”

  “Pay no attention to the ravings of the demon,” Ziv said, tenderly pushing wet hair away from his granddaughter’s soaked forehead. “The unclean spirit loves to accuse and destroy. It always lies. It torments. And that is why we must find Yeshua.”

  I waved the matter away, pretending not to care, but in truth, the girl’s accusation had burrowed deep into my head. Did Jude and Joanna think I had an unnatural love for Thomas? I loved him, certainly, but I had never even imagined anything beyond familial affection.

  Thomas and I did have a shared secret, but that truth had nothing to do with incest. It was far simpler and perhaps even more horrible . . . which was why we never spoke of it.

  I sank back and looked at Jude, my mind reeling. Was he thinking about his brother now? What could a carpenter’s son from Nazareth do in the face of this evil? We should have left Rahel and Ziv at the Temple; surely the priests would know what to do.

  For what did we common people know of demons? I knew nothing, and I was certain that neither Jude nor Thomas nor Yeshua was any better equipped than me.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Tasmin

  I squinted at Ziv, examining the growing lump beneath his right eye. “Are you all right?” I asked, my voice trembling. “I—I have never seen anything like that.”

  Now that the attack had passed, the old man had gone pale beneath his beard. “The fits are not always so bad,” he said, brushing sand from his tunic. “Most of the time she does not speak, but bites her tongue and spits blood at us. But today—I don’t know what happened. I am sorry.”

  “It . . . is not your fault.”

  “But if you had not been kind enough to accept us, you would not have been subjected to the sight of such evil.” He sighed and gestured toward a scrubby terebinth tree. “Rahel will need to sleep for a while.” He looked at her limp form, still stretched out on the road. “If you do not want to wait, you may travel on without us.”

  Jude bent and picked up the girl. “We will wait with you,” he said, carrying Rahel to a shady spot beneath the tree. “We will not leave you alone.”

  Joanna moved toward the donkey. “We have bread and cheese to share. We might as well eat while we rest.”

  While Joanna and Susanna set out the food, I picked up the boy and wavered between Jude or Ziv. Which would most welcome my company? Or would they both prefer that the woman accused of perverted love keep her distance?

  Jude caught my eye and jerked his head toward the empty space next to him. I walked over and sat down.

  “You seem upset,” he began.

  “I’m not.”

  “Disturbed, then. What you saw—have you never seen a person possessed by an unclean spirit?”

  I shook my head, grateful he had broached a subject that seemed too horrible to discuss. “I—” I swallowed hard—“I am beginning to think I have lived a very small life.”

  He did not mock me, but simply looked at the ground. “The world is full of strange situations. Adonai blessed you with a father who sheltered you, just as Adonai shelters us under His wings.”

  “Adonai could have sheltered me better if He had not taken my mother.” The words spilled from my mouth before I had the intention of forming them. I shook my head. “I’m sorry. I try not to feel sorry for myself. But as I was growing up, all the other girls had mothers—”

  “While you had Thomas.”

  I nodded, for he was beginning to understand. “Thomas and I had Abba.”

  “And that is why you are close.”

  I gave him a careful nod. “We are twins, after all.”

  “Yet neither of you has married.”

  “You are not married, either, and you are older than Thomas.”

  “Women usually marry at a younger age. And yet”—his eyes narrowed—“you have not.”

  “What of it?”

  “I’m only wondering—”

  “Ziv said the demon lies. It lied today.”

  “You mistake my intention. I am not wondering if your feeling is unnatural; I am wondering why you and Thomas are so close. I have sisters, but I would not travel the length and breadth of Galilee in search of them.”

  “Yet you are traveling in search of your brother.”

  Jude chuckled. “Only because we have a job to do. I am not searching because I miss him.”

  His words, spoken so easily, struck me like a blow. Miss him? I missed Thomas dreadfully. I missed his strength. I missed having his outlook on everything from daily events to my nightmares. I missed his humor, his belches, his voice, and the way he rubbed his nose when he fought off a sneeze. I missed the way we could read each other’s thoughts with a single glance, and the way we would laugh at some sight or sound only the other would find humorous.

  And I missed sharing my
guilt with him . . .

  “You’re not a twin.” I heaved the words at Jude as if they were stones. “Twins are different. They are unusually close.”

  “Are they?” His gaze lowered, as did his voice. “Jacob and Esau were twins, but they were not close. One was smooth and one hairy. One was chosen of God and the other was not. One was his mother’s favorite, and the other his father’s—”

  “Perhaps they were an exception.”

  “Or perhaps you and your brother are close only because you had no mother when you needed her to guide you into womanhood. Perhaps the bond between you and your brother is not such a good thing, because eventually most twins separate and live their own lives.”

  I flinched at the implication. “Are you saying I shouldn’t miss my brother? That I am wrong to want him home with us?”

  “I did not say those things. You did.”

  I clenched my hands. “We are close because after Mother died, we had no one else. Father was always busy in the grove, and we had no other siblings. We were each other’s playmate, fellow student, and best friend.”

  Jude’s eyes softened. “You had no friends among the village girls?”

  I shook my head. “They were always with their mothers. Aunt Dinah visited sometimes, but she had her own children to look after. I had Thomas. Only Thomas.”

  “He did not attend Torah studies with the other boys?”

  “Yes, after a while. When he was young, Abba taught him. Abba taught both of us.”

  “Then you were blessed indeed. I was nineteen, a grown man, when I lost my father, and sometimes I struggle to remember his face. At least I have my brothers and sisters to keep his memory alive. And our mother, of course.”

  I studied his countenance, searching for any sign of cynicism or condemnation yet saw nothing but interest . . . and kindness.

  At the sight of that kindness, tension began to melt from my shoulders. “You will soon be with your brothers again,” I said. “And since Yeshua has undoubtedly heard the news about John, perhaps he has decided to go back to woodworking. Your mother will be relieved, and Thomas will come home to care for our grove and help me.”