Daughter of Cana Page 26

  “Agreed. But, Jude—”

  “Yes?”

  “Does your mother know about our betrothal?”

  His brow furrowed, then he smiled. “I’m sure word has reached her by now.”

  “But you didn’t tell her?”

  “How could I? I haven’t seen her in over two years.”

  I nodded and smoothed my wrinkled tunic, hoping Jude’s mother would approve of our news when and if we found her.

  Though we searched throughout the city, we did not find Jude’s mother or Yeshua’s disciples. Everywhere we went, however, we heard talk of Yeshua and the kingdom of God.

  One man stood in the center of the marketplace and told his story: “I heard him say it was easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” The man grinned as the crowd laughed. “Good news for us poor folks, I say!”

  “That’s nothing,” another man called. “I heard him say that tax collectors and prostitutes would enter the kingdom of God before the Pharisees.”

  Stunned silence greeted that report, then someone snickered. “That sounds bad, but when was the last time a Pharisee offered you comfort and a little kiss?”

  Another man spread his arms and addressed the crowd. “I, too, heard Yeshua speak about the kingdom of God. Someone asked how much longer we would have to wait for it, and Yeshua said, ‘The Kingdom of God is not coming with things observable, for the Malchut HaShem is within you.’”

  A fat man in gaudy robes thrust out his swollen stomach and made a face. “Inside me? No wonder my belly is so big!”

  The crowd broke into raucous laughter as Jude took my elbow and guided me away.

  As the sun began to lower in the west, we returned to the inn in the Valley of the Cheesemakers. The innkeeper and his wife invited us to share their evening meal, so we thanked them for their hospitality and joined them.

  As a servant brought around a tray of stew, leeks, and dried dates, Jude made a wry comment: “If we were home in Galilee, we would be eating the seudah maphsehket.”

  The innkeeper frowned. “The last supper?”

  Jude nodded and dipped a handful of leeks in a cup of sauce. “The last supper before the fast that ends with the Passover meal. It’s a traditional practice in Galilee, honoring the firstborn sons of our families. After all, not all Jews were in danger when the death angel passed over Egypt. Only the firstborns.”

  “A nice ritual. A shame we don’t practice it in Judea.” The innkeeper’s wife smiled at Jude. “Are you a firstborn?”

  “No.” A momentary look of discomfort crossed Jude’s face. “My brother is.”

  The innkeeper lifted his cup. “May he rejoice in his seudah maphsehket tonight.”

  With a sober expression, Jude raised his cup. “To his seudah maphsehket.”

  I couldn’t help wondering where Yeshua was eating the last supper. Most of his disciples were Galilean, so wherever they were, I was sure they were observing the ritual.

  After dinner, I went to the women’s bedchamber while Jude stepped out to sleep in the courtyard.

  At one point in the night I sat up, as awake as if someone had poured water in my face. I heard shouting outside, and the tramping sound of marching men. I crept to the door, opened the shutter, and peered out. In the yellow torchlight thrown by the lamp at the door, I saw Jude standing in the courtyard, one hand on the donkey and the other on his hip.

  “Jude!” I hissed, not wanting to wake the household. “Did someone try to steal the donkey?”

  He shook his head. “The trouble has nothing to do with us.”

  “But I heard something—soldiers?”

  “Temple guards. They were marching out of the city.”

  The Temple guards were controlled by the Sanhedrin, not the Romans. Where had they been sent at this hour? If Jude wondered the same thing, he did not voice his thoughts.

  I went back to my bed, but sleep remained elusive. Could the Sanhedrin have sent the guards to arrest Yeshua and his disciples? They would not dare arrest him during the day, not when so many admirers thronged around him. By night, however, Yeshua and his men could be arrested quietly and his so-called crime announced the next morning. They would hear his case in the Sanhedrin’s chamber at the Temple, and two or three days later they would announce their verdict.

  I sighed in relief. This was a better scenario than the one I kept imagining. I had imagined Yeshua instigating a riot in the Temple courtyard, which would have been answered by swordplay, bloodshed, and lawlessness. The disciples, including Thomas, would leap to their teacher’s defense. The Temple guards would then cut down Yeshua and most of his followers in full view of their passionate public. When they all lay dead on the cobblestones, the people would learn not to set their hopes on anyone the religious authorities opposed . . .

  Surely a quiet arrest was better, and nothing would come of it. The Sanhedrin did not have the power to put a man to death, and Yeshua had not broken any Roman laws. The emperor should have no quarrel with a prophet without political aspirations, and so the Romans would stay out of this religious disagreement. Yeshua and his men would likely be flogged, released, and warned not to preach in public again. Case closed.

  After this brush with danger, Thomas would be free. Yeshua would return to Nazareth, and Thomas would go home to Cana. Jude and I would marry, and together we would raise Yagil and any other children HaShem sent to bless us.

  Content to know all would be well, I closed my eyes and withdrew into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Tasmin

  On Nisan 14, the day of Passover, the sun rose with the warmth of spring on its breath. I rolled out of bed, eager to find our lost loved ones and save their lives by taking them home.

  The innkeeper’s wife had spread bread, fruit, and cheese on the table for her guests. When she saw me, she nodded toward the food, silently inviting me to break my fast, then turned back to the door where she was in earnest conversation with a woman in the street. “But what will they do with him?” I heard her ask.

  I was too anxious to eat, and I knew Jude would be fasting in observance of seudah maphsehket.

  I left our hostess to her conversation and smiled at the woman’s little daughter, who sat in a corner playing with blocks. The child gave me a shy smile, and my heart tightened unexpectedly as I thought of Yagil. What was he doing now? Was he sitting on Dinah’s lap and asking about me? Did he miss me at all?

  The innkeeper’s wife sighed, bade farewell to the other woman, and came toward me, wiping her hands on a linen square. “Is there anything I can get you?” She gave me a polite smile. “The young man with you—”

  “Is he awake?”

  “He went down to the well to inquire about some business. He said you should wait here until he returns.”

  I thanked her and pulled up a stool to wait. This inn was more comfortable than others I’d stayed in, although one expected to find decent accommodations in a city as large as Jerusalem. People from all over the world came here to visit Herod’s Temple and David’s Tomb, so the local residents undoubtedly felt pressure to make things pleasant for visitors.

  I was idly entertaining the possibility of opening an inn when Jude burst into the house, his face flushed. He gave the innkeeper and his wife an abrupt nod, then locked his gaze on me. “They arrested Yeshua last night,” he said, his voice low and taut. “All the men with him fled, and the Temple guard took Yeshua to the high priest’s palace. I heard they might move him later today.”

  I rose from my stool, knocking over a honeypot in momentary panic. “We should go.” I grabbed a square of linen and frantically swiped at the honey. “We need to stop this before it goes any further—”

  “But what can we do?” Jude’s face opened, and for the first time I saw honest fear in his eyes. He had always been certain his brother was a mere annoyance to the ruling powers, but now with the high priest himself involved . . .


  “Go.” The innkeeper’s wife hurried over to clean up the mess. “Do what you need to do.”

  “Let me get my bag.” I thanked our hostess with a smile and rushed to grab my things.

  We had walked only a short distance when we heard an outcry in the street. A group of men stood at an intersection, hands fisted and arms waving as they questioned, accused, and retorted.

  “What’s this?” Jude murmured.

  I stepped back, bracing myself against a wall as he insinuated himself into the throng. I heard his voice rise above the others in a heated exchange, then he emerged a moment later, his mouth set in a grim line.

  “During the trial,” Jude said, “the high priest asked him, ‘Are you Mashiach, Son of the blessed One?’ Yeshua answered, ‘I am, and you shall see the Son of Man sitting at the right hand of the Powerful One and coming with the clouds of heaven.’”

  I gasped as Jude gripped my upper arm and pulled me into an alley. “What will they—?”

  “At daybreak the council of the elders condemned Yeshua for blasphemy. They have taken him to Pilate.”

  “Why?” I asked, struggling to keep pace with Jude’s long stride.

  “Because the Jews do not have the authority to put a man to death.”

  My blood ran cold. “They want Pilate to kill him? For blasphemy? Why should the Romans care about our religious law? They do not believe in HaShem, and I’ve heard them blaspheme their own gods—”

  “The council will come up with something,” Jude said, moving faster. “They want my brother dead, so I fear they will make the Romans care.”

  A crowd had gathered outside the gate of the procurator’s palace by the time we arrived. A trio of Roman guards stood in front of the gate, and from their sidelong glances and shifting feet, I knew the crowd made them nervous. “You are going to need reinforcements,” Jude called, noticing the guard’s anxiety. “Your governor is holding a peaceful man, one who has committed no crime.”

  The guard might have moved against Jude, but at that moment a trumpet blew and the guards stepped away to open the gates. We were forced back along with the crowd. While we watched, perplexed, a horse-drawn wagon rumbled over the cobblestone courtyard and moved into the street. Four guards sat at the corners of the open wagon, and in the center, on his knees, knelt Yeshua.

  The sight of him, beaten and bruised about the head, felt like a punch to the center of my belly. I gasped, struggling to breathe, as the man I hoped to call brother-in-law lifted his head, saw me, and then shifted his gaze to his brother’s face.

  “W-where are they taking him?” Jude asked, his voice ragged.

  He was not speaking to me, but to anyone who would listen. He looked around, frantically seeking an answer, yet no one in the crowd knew any more than we did.

  Then a familiar figure came out of the courtyard and walked straight toward us. Though I had not seen the man in years, the beardless face, the snarling smile, and the gaping eye socket had not changed. “They are taking him to Antipas,” the eunuch said, reaching for Jude. “The same place I’m taking you.”

  Jude tried to resist, but two armed figures followed the eunuch, burly men in plain tunics with sword belts at their waists. They probably served Antipas or Herodias, and in that instant I realized they had been following us.

  “Tasmin,” Jude said, glancing over his shoulder at me, “run!”

  I would have, but one of the burly men grabbed my arm in a viselike grip. I bit my lip to stifle a cry.

  “You are coming with me,” the one-eyed man said, “now that you have no friends coming to rescue you.”

  I had no idea what he meant, but he was right. In the sea of people around us, I could not spot one familiar face.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Tasmin

  For a frightening moment I feared we’d be herded into wagons and trundled off to Tiberias or Herod’s prison near the Dead Sea. Then I remembered: Herod Antipas always came to Jerusalem for Pesach.

  I walked beside Jude through the streets of Jerusalem, roughly escorted by the eunuch and his brawny henchmen. Though the day was warm, a coldness filled my stomach, an icy lump that did not seem likely to melt. Frightened as I was, I kept thinking about Thomas. Was he being marched somewhere against his will or had he managed to hide? What of the other disciples? Were they together in a safe place or scattered like sheep?

  The guards dragged us over broken cobblestones, through ankle-deep puddles of filth and piles of manure, caring nothing for our safety or our dignity. Finally I spotted the grand palace of Herod Antipas, not far from the Temple Mount. Our captors led us through a gate and held us in a marble-clad vestibule while the eunuch went into another chamber. Then he reappeared, and we were forced through gilded doors into a reception hall, where Antipas was engaged with a prisoner.

  Yeshua.

  In that moment, I realized that Jude and I were not the main attraction, only a sideshow. The tetrarch did not even glance at us; his attention was riveted on Jude’s brother.

  Held in place by the two thickset guards, Jude and I stood at the back of the room and waited while Yeshua, clearly in pain from a severe beating, was forced to stand before Antipas, who sat on a golden throne and looked frustrated. A dozen or so retainers and officials stood behind the tetrarch, their eyes darting right and left, probably trying to remain on guard lest Antipas ask something of them. At the back of the room, a contingent of Pharisees and Temple authorities stood in a somber huddle, their garments proclaiming their righteousness with an overabundance of tassels and tefillin.

  The ruler of Galilee and Perea leaned forward and peered at Yeshua through heavily painted eyes, then turned to the woman on the gilded seat next to him. “Here he is, love,” he said, his mouth curling as if on the verge of laughter. “The one the Immerser told us about.”

  “Delighted,” she said with a deadpan expression.

  With a grin, Antipas looked at his prisoner. “I have longed to see you, Jesus of Nazareth,” he said, using Yeshua’s Greek name. “If you had not been captured last night, I might have had to arrest you myself. Of course, it would help if you would do something . . . arresting. Something miraculous. Something truly extraordinary.” He arched a brow. “So? Will you work a miracle for me? I could have water brought, if you would turn it into wine. But no, you’ve already done that. What if I brought a goblet of donkey piss? Do you have the power to turn that into a pleasing vintage?”

  Jude leaned toward me. “Even I might attempt that,” he whispered, “if Antipas would sample the cup.”

  The tetrarch waited, as did everyone in the audience chamber, but Yeshua neither moved nor spoke.

  “Forget the wine.” Antipas waved the matter away. “Bad idea. But here are the crumbs from my lunch—a crust, two grapes, a half-eaten fig. This room is filled with, what”—he looked around—“thirty people? Will you take these remnants and feed all of us? Can you do that?”

  He waited, but again Yeshua remained silent.

  “How about this?” Herod’s smile vanished as he pointed to a young boy who stood nearby, a platter of fruit in his hands. “If I have my guard cut out yonder slave’s heart, could you put it back and revive him?”

  The boy trembled, his face rippling with terror as the platter fell to the marble floor, scattering the fruit.

  I inched closer to Jude, my head spinning in the horrified silence of an audience holding its breath.

  Antipas propped an elbow on his knee and rested his chin on his hand. His face transformed, the polished veneer peeling back to reveal the violence inherited from his father. “Answer me, Jesus of Nazareth. What will you do to prove yourself?”

  No one moved for a moment, then Herodias broke the silence with a giggle. “Apparently the Immerser overrated his successor. This one is not nearly as entertaining as his kinsman.”

  “But the reports! I’ve heard so many amazing stories.” Antipas frowned and clasped his hands. “I heard you resurrected a man who had been dead four
days. If my dear Herodias could remember where she placed John’s head, could you restore it to life?”

  I closed my eyes, silently grieving for Jude and Yeshua and John. Had Antipas no mercy at all?

  Herodias yawned. “This one is not even interesting. Why is he here?”

  “Pilate sent him,” Antipas growled. “He must have been bored with him, as well.” He gestured to his guards. “Send the prisoner back to the procurator.”

  “Wait!” One of the chief priests stepped forward. “This man has been disturbing the peace in Galilee. He has said he is God. He said we ought not to obey the Law. He said he could destroy the Temple and rebuild it in three days—your father’s temple, Tetrarch!”

  Another priest stepped forward and bowed to Antipas. “He claims to be a king.”

  The word king seemed to fill the throne room and echo in the vaulted chamber.

  Antipas lifted his head, his eyes narrowing at the title he had never been able to claim. “You are a king?” His voice dripped with derision. “Then I must apologize for my lack of proper respect. You there”—he pointed at a servant—“bring one of my purple robes. The one laid out on my bed, if you will.”

  As the servant scurried off, Herod glanced at his wife. “Have you anything to ask him, my love?”

  Herodias regarded Yeshua with impassive eyes, then looked at the one-eyed man who stood in front of me and Jude. “I have no questions for the Nazarene,” she said, “but my servant has brought a pair who follow this Yeshua. I would speak to them, if it pleases you.”

  Antipas smiled. “Everything you do pleases me.”

  Herodias rose with oiled grace, walked toward us, and stopped a few paces away. “Orien,” she said, “you saw these two in Tiberias and again in Galilee. When you saw them in Tiberias, they were talking with Chuza, my husband’s steward. Is that correct?”

  The one-eyed man bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

  My stomach dropped when she shifted her attention to Jude. “Do you deny it?”