Authors: Unknown
Esteemed Master (read Marcellus), I am writing this on the Jewish
Sabbath in the upper chamber of an old house overlooking the Kidron, no great
distance from the Temple area. I share this room with one Stephanos, a Greek of
my own age, whom the Jews call Stephen. He is intelligent, well-informed, and
friendly. At present he is absent, on some mysterious errand; possibly the same
business that kept him out, last night, until shortly before dawn.
I arrived in Jerusalem but three days ago. You will be curious to learn
the manner of my departure from Athens. Confident of Fulvius's friendship, I
ran to Piræus, boarded the
Vestris,
and confided my dilemma. Fulvius hid
me in the hold. When the ship stood well out to sea, on the second day, I was
brought on deck where I enjoyed full liberty. We had an important passenger who
was recovering from an accident that had disfigured his face. He kept to his
cabin until we had cleared from Alexandria. Recognizing me, he ordered Fulvius
to put me in irons, which Fulvius refused to do, saying that I had paid my
passage. This was untrue, though I had offered to pay. Fulvius told the
distinguished passenger that if he wished he could have me apprehended at the
next port.
We anchored at nightfall in the Bay of Gaza, and Fulvius secretly put me
ashore in the small boat. Providing myself with a few necessities, I journeyed
on foot over the same route taken by the Legion from Minoa to Jerusalem. In a
desolate wady, some twelve parasangs north-east of Ascalon, I was captured and
robbed by Bedouins, who did not otherwise harm me, and permitted my escape. The
weather was extremely cold and I was lightly clad. That country is sparsely
settled, as you may recall. The few inhabitants are poor, and hostile to
strangers. I learned to relish warm goat-milk and frosted corn; and I was
stoned while pillaging withered leeks from an ill-kept garden. I discovered
that eggs, sucked from the shell, are delicious, and that a sleepy cow does not
resent sharing her warmth with a wayfarer seeking shelter in her stall. The
cattle of Judea are hospitable. On the last night of my journey I was
pleasantly surprised by being permitted to sleep in the stable of a tavern in
the village of Bethlehem. In the morning the innkeeper sent his servant with a
dish of hot broth and a small loaf of wheaten bread. The servant said it was a
custom of the inn to befriend impoverished travellers. I observed that on the
corner of the napkin, in which the bread was brought, there was embroidered the
figure of a fish. It stirred my curiosity a little because a similar design had
been burned with an iron into the timber of the stable-door. After leaving
Bethlehem I noticed, at two road-crossings, the crude outline of a fish, drawn
in the sand, and surmised that the device might indicate the direction taken by
someone who wished to leave this cryptic advice for another person following.
Not knowing what it meant--or caring very much--I dismissed the matter from my
mind.
Arriving in Jerusalem, hungry and footsore, I decided to seek the house
of a weaver, hoping I might be given some small tasks to provide me with food
and shelter. In this I was most fortunate. At the shop of Benyosef I was kindly
received by Stephanos, who works there. Learning that I am a Greek and having
been informed that I had done some carding and spinning for Benjamin in Athens,
whose name Stephanos recognized, he commended me to Benyosef, and I was given
employment. The wage is small, but consistent with the service I render, and is
ample to sustain me for the present. Stephanos bade me lodge with him.
Of course, his interest in me is due, primarily, to the fact that I am a
Greek. His people were long ago of Philippi, his great-grandparents having fled
for refuge in Jerusalem when Macedonia was subjugated. It seems that there are
hundreds of Greeks here, whose ancestors migrated to Jerusalem for the same
reason. But many of them are literate; and Stephanos, who is a student of the
classics, longs for congenial company. He seemed pleased when, in response to
his queries, I told him I was at least somewhat conversant with Greek
literature.
On our first evening together, after we had eaten supper and were
talking of many things relating to the unhappy Greeks, Stephanos idly drew the
outline of a fish on the back of a papyrus tablet; and, pushing it across the
table, raised his brows inquiringly.
I told him it signified nothing to me, though I had seen the symbol
before. He then asked me if I had not heard of Jesus, the Galilean. I admitted
that I had--but not very much--and would be interested in hearing more. He said
that the people who believed in the teachings of Jesus were being so savagely
persecuted that they met only in secret. This fish-emblem had been adopted as
their method of identifying themselves to others of similar belief. He did not
tell me how they came to use this device. Jesus was not a fisherman, but a
carpenter.
Stephanos went on to say that Jesus advocated freedom for all men.
'Surely a slave should ally himself with such a cause,' he said. I told him I
was deeply concerned, and he promised to tell me more about Jesus when there
was an opportunity.
The house of Benyosef, I am discovering, is not only a weaver's shop,
but a secret meeting-place for the men who were intimate friends of Jesus. My
position here is so lowly and menial that my presence is unnoticed by the sober
men who come neither to buy nor sell, but to slip in quietly and sit beside the
old man, whispering while he whacks his ancient loom. (Benjamin would laugh at
that loom.)
Yesterday a heavily-bearded man of great strength and stature spent an
hour in low-voiced conversation with Benyosef and two young fellows, in a far
corner of the shop. Stephanos said they were Galileans. The huge man, he said,
was called 'The Big Fisherman,' and the younger men, who were brothers, he
referred to as 'The Sons of Thunder.' 'The Big Fisherman' seems a very forceful
man. Perhaps he is the leader of the party, though why there should be a party
at all, or so much secrecy, now that their Jesus is dead and his cause is lost,
I do not pretend to understand. They all act as if they were suppressing some
excitement. It does not resemble the excitement of fear; rather that of
expectancy. They behave as if they had found something valuable and had hidden
it.
This afternoon, a tall, well-favoured man from the country came into the
shop and was greeted with much warmth. I gathered that they had not seen him
for some time. When the day's work was done, and Stephanos and I were on the
way to our lodging, I remarked of this man that he seemed an amiable person
whom everyone liked, and he unexpectedly confided that the man was Barsabas
Justus, of Sepphoris in Galilee. He then went on to say that Jesus had
appointed twelve friends to serve as his accredited disciples. One of them,
Judas of Kerioth, had betrayed Jesus' whereabouts to the priests. After his
master's arrest, he was filled with remorse and hanged himself. The eleven
disciples met later to elect a successor to this Judas, though why they felt
the necessity to do that, after Jesus was dead, Stephanos did not explain.
They voted on two men who had followed Jesus about through the
provinces, hearing him speak to the people and witnessing many strange deeds of
which Stephanos may tell me when he is in a mood to speak more freely. I think
he wants first to make sure that I will respect his confidence. One of these two
men, Matthias by name, was elected to succeed the traitor Judas. The other man
is this Barsabas Justus.
I venture to suggest, sir, that when you come to Jerusalem to make
inquiries about Jesus' career, you could not do better than to contrive the
acquaintance of a man like Barsabas Justus. This will not be easy to do. These
friends of Jesus are watched closely for any indication that they are
attempting to extend or preserve his influence. The Temple authorities
evidently feel that the teachings of the Galilean contain the seeds of
revolution against the established religion, and the Insula has probably been
persuaded that the sooner everybody forgets about Jesus, the more likely it may
be that this next Passover season can be celebrated without a political
uprising.
During these past three days I have given much thought to a plan which
might assist you in getting up into Galilee without exciting suspicion. You
could appear in Jerusalem as a connoisseur of homespun fabrics, particularly
interested in the products of Galilean household looms. Let it be known that
such textiles are now highly esteemed in Rome. Inquire in the bazaars for such
fabrics and pay generously for a few articles. They are not considered as of
much value here, but might quickly become so if you permit yourself to be well
cheated in two or three shops. Rumour spreads rapidly in this city.
In the course of your search for Galilean homespun you would naturally
call at the house of Benyosef, where you might let it be known that you
contemplate a trip into the region around Capernaum to look for textiles. You
could inquire whether it would be possible to employ, as a guide, some man well
acquainted with that country.
Of the several Galileans who visit the shop, Barsabas Justus would be
the most likely, I think, to accept such employment. The man they call 'The Big
Fisherman' is too passionately absorbed in whatever he is doing in the city and
'The Sons of Thunder' appear to be weighted with duties, but Barsabas Justus
seems to have fewer responsibilities. Unquestionably he is your man--if you can
get him.
My belief is that they will scatter when Passover Week approaches, for
the Insula will be on the alert, and these Galileans will want to avoid useless
trouble. I suggest that you plan to arrive here about a month before the
Passover. Spring will be approaching, and the country will be beautiful. It
will be more prudent if you do not recognize me, even if we meet face to face;
for, unless I am mistaken, Stephanos will--by that time--have taken me into his
full confidence, and it would be most unfortunate if he suspected collusion
between us. Stephanos does not know that I have ever been in Jerusalem before.
If I can contrive a secret meeting when you come, I shall be overjoyed to talk
with you, but I think you should ignore me completely. If a private conference
is practical, I shall arrange for it and let you know--somehow.
Marcellus glanced up at Benjamin, and grinned.
'That boy should have been a Jew!' declared the old man. 'He has a keen
mind--and is cunning.'
'Yes,' agreed Marcellus, dryly. 'I can see that a study of Aramaic has
done wonders for him. He is crafty. However, this advice sounds sensible
enough, don't you think?'
'I doubt it, my friend. This is a game that will have to be played with
the utmost care,' warned Benjamin. 'The Jews have no reasons for trusting the
Romans. Their confidence will not be easily won.'
'Do you think I might be able to pass myself off for a merchant?'
inquired Marcellus, doubtfully.
'A good way to find out,' suggested Benjamin, with a twinkle, 'is to go
over here to David Sholem's bazaar and buy something; and then go across the
street and try to sell it to old Aaron Barjona.' They both laughed.
'But, seriously,' said Marcellus. 'Do you think I might be able to get
into Galilee by any such scheme as the one Demetrius suggests?'
'Not a chance!' scoffed Benjamin.
'Not if I offered the fellow a handsome wage?'
Benjamin shook his head decisively.
'No--not for a handsome wage. This Barsabas Justus may have much to give
that you would like to know; but he will have nothing to sell.'
'You advise me not to attempt it?'
The old man laboriously threaded a needle, with many grotesque squints
and grimaces. Having accomplished it, he grinned, triumphantly, and deftly
rolled a tight knot into the end of the thread.
'It might be worth trying,' he grunted. 'These Galileans may be bigger
fools than we think.'
With almost no conversation they had eaten their lunch under an old fig
tree, a little distance from the highway, and were now lounging in the shade.
Justus had stretched out his long frame on the grass, and with his
fingers laced behind his shaggy head was staring up through the broad leaves
into a bland April sky, his studious frown denoting perplexity.
Marcellus, reclining against the tree-trunk, moodily wished himself
elsewhere. He was restless and bored. Old Benjamin's pessimistic forecast that
this proposed expedition into Samaria and Galilee would be a disappointment had
turned out to be correct.
Arriving in Jerusalem two weeks ago, Marcellus had acted fully upon
Demetrius's written advice. Having engaged lodgings at the best inn, a
commodious old house with a garden, halfway up the hill toward the suburb of
Bethany, registering in the name of 'M. Lucan,' he had proceeded deliberately
to bewilder the downtown bazaars with inquiries for homespun fabrics and
garments--particularly articles of Galilean origin. He went from one shop to
another, naïvely admiring the few things they showed him; recklessly purchasing
robes and shawls at the first price quoted, professing to be immensely pleased
to have them at any cost. And when the merchants confessed, with unfeigned
lamentations, that their stock of Galilean textiles had run low, he upbraided
them for their lack of enterprise.
Then he had lain up, for a few days, lounging in the garden of the inn,
re-reading The Book of Yeshayah--old Benjamin's farewell gift--and waiting for
the rumour of his business transactions to be whispered about among the
clothing dealers. It was very trying to be so close to Demetrius and unable to
communicate with him. One day he almost persuaded himself that this elaborate
scheme for getting into Galilee was unnecessarily fantastic, and he
half-resolved to go down to Benyosef's shop and explain, in the most forthright
manner, that he had a desire to talk with men who had known Jesus in his own
community. But, upon reflection, he saw that such a course might embarrass
Demetrius; so he abandoned this impulsive procedure and impatiently bided his
time.