Authors: Jack Quinn
The immediate uncertainty for all associated with Jesus was assuaged by the surprising fact that none of his followers had been arrested, persecuted or even acknowledged after the precipitate crucifixion of their leader. Why not? Pilate had obviously believed that the itinerant rabbi was a dangerous, charismatic leader and troublemaker who had lent his open support to the rebels. If the Prefect perceived that among his disciples Jesus alone was a menace to the
Pax Romana
and conveniently at hand to set an example, he might have rightly assumed that my brother’s execution would intimidate the entire boisterous Passover mob, including his leaderless peasant followers who would be no threat whatever.
Or possibly the Sanhedrin had urged Pilate to execute Yehoshua because they so feared the danger in the duality of his message which usurped their own power by blatantly dismissing some of the sacred laws of the Torah and preaching his subtly cloaked ‘end-of-the-world Kingdom of God’ pap. None of his disciples had preached that theme in public, nor had any sought to replace him.
Yet that merciless, unpredictable Roman tyrant had proven that his whim could turn in an instant. So James and I decided our women and myself would be safer out of his dominion. Those early years following Yehoshua’s death found me lethargic and despondent. On numerous occasions during a sleepless walk in the night, I recalled the intense misery of Nubian that impelled his attempt to escape his fate with a swallowed sponge and Yehoshua’s refusal to do so. Nothing seemed to interest me, not even the oblivion of wine that I was now convinced was poison for me, which if I ingested a single cup would lead to my eventual death as sure as a choking sponge or self-inflicted wound from my
Pugio
. I had also put aside my aggressive nature and disarmed in Greece, whether adopting a lesson from my brother, or lacking a purpose for my life, cared little if some brigand chose to end it, I know not.
For my own part, I felt constrained living with mother and Mary, riding Nubia for diversion, sculpting pieces of wood when I was not at my philosophy studies in Athina. Because of the lack of any real demands on my time, my craving for just one cup of wine lurked at the back of my mind in constant battle with the haunting fear of its certain consequence. After two years, I transferred the house on the edge of the city into mother’s name, deposited sufficient funds with a banker for the women to live well for long into the future, bid them farewell and set out on the long road back to the Galilee.
Having sold my large home there when we left, I rented a modest apartment in Sepphoris to contemplate what I would do. I had been nearly celibate while living with mother and Mary, all the while yearning for some sort of quasi-romantic relationship. Despite the unconscionable outcome of my assignation with Tanya in Jerusalem, I knew I would forever nurture the ache in my heart at our hopeless circumstances. I also realized that my leg was a barrier for consideration by most women, preventing them from considering me a serious life-partner, their fathers reluctant to force a crippled former gladiator as husband on their daughters, no matter his wealth. Not withstanding the odds, I did wish to find a pleasant female companion to brighten whatever time was before me on earth. At my advanced age of thirty-six years, a young widow or impoverished family might constitute my best prospects for which I would need to engage a professional matchmaker. So be it.
First, however, I would learn the state of affairs with Yentl after my six-year absence and determine if she yet held a grudge for my last drunken visit. Although I did not love Yentl with the same mindless passion as Tanya, she suited me. Her intelligence, wit, practicality, the firm body of a woman ten years younger, her abandon in bed drew me to her like a moth to the flame. I knew her visage did not appeal to others as it did me, but I could gaze forever on her prominent nose, her impish expressions, the squint of her eyes, her peculiar smile.
Returning to her previous home in the lower city, I learned from neighbors that she had moved to another house closer to the center, and upon reflection, decided that she might accept my visit more readily if I confronted her on the open street rather than her dwelling. Once I found the address of her improved domicile, I lingered up the avenue to await her exit.
“Good day, my beauty,” I said, walking along beside her among others strolling or riding along the narrow street.
If she was startled at my appearance after my long absence, she did not reveal it. “You always turn up so unexpectedly, Shimon.”
I knew not if she referred to our original meeting, my return from Rome, the night Stephen tried to save me from the Romans, or my last appearance when I struck her. “As a dented coin.”
She was dressed in the fashion of Rome, a clean white
stolae
without veil, turning to smile at me. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
She chose a bench in the shade on which we settled ourselves before she continued. “You did not seek me out just for a glass of tea, Shimon.”
I laughed a bit at her forthright manner. “We used to get on quite well.”
She looked off in the near distance where children were playing at some game under the gaze of their mothers or nurses. “A long time ago.”
I think she realized what I was about, though would not make it easy for me, was not interested or undecided. “May I call upon you for a glass of tea or to sup?”
She laughed again, more at ease now with our reacquaintance and familiar bantering. “I have always liked you, Shimon. More than liked. But if you still wish to bed me without security, thereby confirming my questionable reputation, to secretly disdain me for what you wish to make me--be gone, Shimon.”
“I would never do that to you!”
“What, then? I have no father or brothers to fend for me. I will have thirty-nine years next winter, an old widow without honorable past or prospects.”
I had not thought this encounter would lead to such a profound discussion, so tried to introduce a bit of levity. “We could always plan a lavish wedding, buy a large house and install a dozen children in it.”
She rose, rearranging her
stolae
about her hips. “If you wish to pursue me with the possibility of marriage this time, Shimon, ponder the issues of our past and future with care.”
I stood, shaking my head in wonder at this indomitable female whose candor and intellect I realized I had missed far more than I could ever have imagined. “I will send a slave with a note for our next meeting.”
She ran her fingers down my cheek in a manner of affection, her eyes moist. “Do not bother, if you have the slightest misgiving regarding my requirements.”
As was my habit, I rode early in the morning before the heat of day for my own pleasure and Nubia’s exercise, both enjoying our brisk canter across grazed fields and tall grass of meadows in bright sunshine. On one occasion, shortly after I began courting Yentl, Judah emerged from a small copse of pines. He nodded a silent greeting as he rode along with me toward a wooded area to the east of Shefar’am where he reined in his mount. I had not encountered the rebel leader since our meeting at Passover in Jerusalem those distant years ago. I was certain he knew the reason for my absence on the night before the crucifixion of my brother, and the guilt I bore for the responsibility of his death. He was attired as usual in a hooded robe of coarse wool, the hilt of his dagger outlined beneath it under a belt of twisted hemp.
“Welcome back to Palestine,” he said.
“It is good to be home.”
He dismounted and I likewise, walking our horses at the berm of the wood, the Galilean getting straight to his point as was his wont. “I assume you will return to the craft of your father.”
“I do not have his skill or the interest.”
“What then?”
I sensed what he was about, and although it had been an occasional thought over the past few years, I had not come to a conclusion of it. “I may be wed soon.”
Judah laughed. “I have never heard marriage called an occupation, but that may be an appropriate designation after all.”
“It is not assured. My betrothed has a successful cloth enterprise for which I might secure new customers. She would hire assistant weavers to produce more robes I could sell from a stall in the marketplace. Or I might hire out as tutor in languages.”
In fact, the idea possessed a strange appeal for me from his initial utterance. A credible Jewish rebellion against the might of Roman legions would require an armed force that must hold a reasonable chance of victory. The time to strike, Judah told me, would require two components: a conquering Empire otherwise preoccupied in their vast dominion, and a sufficient number of trained rebels.
My assignment would be to recruit such a force of committed Jews throughout Palestine, train their leaders in swordsmanship and the basic battle tactics I had learned from Fabian in Vespasian’s courtyard and my years fighting for my life in the Circus. Judah predicted correctly that any local assemblage that I gathered could be explained as a meeting of the incipient Jesist sect my brother’s followers were attempting to proselytize, and my work canvassing the area for affluent customers for Yentl’s elegant attire, both providing a rational excuse for my itinerant movement.
After spending goodly time with Yentl during my courtship and our betrothal, it amazed me how alike we were in our thinking and our natural consideration of one another. Although literate in Aramaic and Greek, Yentl had little tutored education, yet a profound sense for analyzing issues, which almost invariably led her to the most effective conclusions, whether in her business or our personal lives. Despite my own extensive studies in philosophy, I quickly learned to defer to her judgment, becoming her willing partner in executing her ideas and suggestions. Upon the realization of our mutual devotion, we began planning how we would manage our lives together and define what Yentl termed our ultimate ‘goals.’
Forthrightness and full discussion had never been one of my character traits, but were two qualities on which Yentl insisted for our intended lifelong partnership. One of the first concerns she raised was where we would live. At first I thought she meant where in Sepphoris, but her vision was wider than that. Considering the knowledge of our tainted backgrounds by the neighbors and gossips who knew of us, she reasoned that a move from Sepphoris would benefit our union. Jerusalem, of course, was the capital, religious center, hub of commerce and heart of the country. Yentl anticipated that her business would enjoy substantial growth by relocating in that highly populated area, especially my efforts securing new clients. I would travel away from home a good deal, but she could accompany me often as she built her hired weaving and sewing staff. We had agreed we were not young lovers with a need to copulate every night, but mature adults confident in our mutual trust to bear those separations with a certain élan. In addition to which, her daughter Hezekiah had been wed at the age of fifteen three years ago and was living with her merchant husband and son in Datrana in the south.
As part of the avowed candor between us, I finally, although with some trepidation, told Yentl about the assignment I had all but accepted from Judah. She listened without comment through my entire recitation, nodding in understanding at the proposed elements of the plan Judah and I had discussed; then posed several questions and cited potential problems neither the Galilean nor I had thought of.
“If there is to be a rebellion against Roman rule, I wish to be part of it. If all Jews did naught when called to prepare for that day they will prevent it from happening or ensure our defeat.”