The Egyptians returned to the welcome of Yudah’s daughter, Miriam. “Thank you,” said Yeshua as she gestured them to enter. Theudas’ attempt to conceal his yawn was no more successful than Miriam’s attempt to conceal her amusement at it. But this wordless exchange released the brothers from the lingering influence of that pharisaic frown. The weight of the day’s events that pressed down on these Egyptians, whilst not being removed, was nevertheless lightened by the atmosphere of Yudah’s home and its hostess. But Miriam offered no escape from the realities that crowded in on them, which only made her comfort all the more valuable.
“I haven’t seen Yotham and Saul since I was a child, but I remember them well . . .” Miriam said warmly as she touched Yeshua’s shoulder, “. . . and I treasure that memory. I can only imagine how you must feel . . .” She dropped her head. “How your father must feel.” She lifted her gaze to Yeshua. “How is he?”
Ely of Alexandria was distraught at the loss of his elder sons, and saw the vengeful quest of Yeshua and Theudas as the loss of his younger sons. He had begged them not to leave Alexandria before having had chance to grieve properly, but Ely’s pleas were ignored. You can’t spend your whole life preaching about justice, Yeshua had reasoned, and then complain when your sons go in search of it. Justice would be the gift that Ely would receive on his sons’ return to Egypt.
“Not well,” Theudas answered, jolting his elder brother out of the thoughts that had left Miriam’s question unanswered.
“Sorry,” said Yeshua as he shook the thoughts from his head. “He’ll be okay when we get home. He’ll know that justice has been done and his grief will be lessened.”
“Well,” she smiled provocatively, “when you go back to Alexandria, be sure to take our love as well as your justice.” For a moment, her smile evoked in Yeshua the discomfort that only a prophet could awaken. “Now!” she grinned, having noted their relief at escaping the synagogue. “After surviving the sermon of Kaleb the Pharisee, I assume you’re both ready for the vine of Yudah?” Miriam’s question was accompanied by a smirk of sympathetic frustration with the sermon she hadn’t heard, although she looked as though she had endured it a thousand times before. Her smirk became a smile as she withdrew to bring refreshments.
Furnished with a cup of wine, the brothers found their garden bench and breathed relief at escaping the commotions of the outside world. Miriam perched herself lightly on a large stone, pulled a jasmine leaf towards her nose and inhaled as though her true life-energy were contained in the plant. Although mesmerized by the sight, Theudas was unable to restrain his tongue.
“Yeshua, how come she’s allowed to miss the synagogue and we’re not?” he grinned.
“You sound like you’re talking to my father!” she smiled.
“He sounds more like he’s talking to ours!” Yeshua cut in.
“Theudas! If you went because you were forced,” she added, “perhaps you shouldn’t have gone at all!”
“Maybe,” he laughed. “But I’m asking about you! What are you doing, here, waiting upon us? The whole town’s in crisis?”
She eyed the brothers, content to say nothing immediately. She allowed a lark singing beyond the courtyard’s walls to punctuate their conversation as though she had pre-ordained it. “Someone needs to look after our liberators,” she grinned, unconvincingly.
“Miriam,” Theudas tried again. “What are you doing here?”
The woman’s energy left her with Theudas’ question. She took another breath of jasmine, emptied her lungs and screwed up her eyes as though staring into the sun. “Believe me,” she said, “it’s a long story, and you have more pressing matters to discuss—or at least you will when my father returns!” She stood, faced away and lifted her head. Yeshua shook his head at his brother before Miriam turned again to speak softly to them whilst shaking hers. “Don’t get dragged any further into our troubles here.” With that, she excused herself from their company.
“How do you feel now?” asked Yeshua after a moment, not forgetting his brother’s invitation to ask this question again once wine had appeared.
“Bloody stupid.”
“I’m not talking about Miriam, you pagan. I’m talking about this morning. You remember, we killed a couple of soldiers, a few more people were killed as a result.” Yeshua’s laugh was devoid of any joy. “Can you remember that far back?”
“I don’t know . . . ” he shrugged and frowned.
“Well get your mind out of your loincloth!”
“I don’t feel anything.” Theudas grinned, and then shut up. Yeshua knew the best way to keep his brother talking was not to respond. Silence was intolerable to Theudas, and he broke it after only a couple of seconds. “I thought I might feel relieved, or guilty, or something. I just don’t feel anything.” Yeshua still refused to respond, and after a pause Theudas continued. “I guess it’s because we’re still in the middle of this. Sitting here in the same luxury we enjoy at home. But really . . .” he glanced at his elder brother and paused, “. . . we’re at the eye of the storm. Yudah will be back soon with his bandit friends, probably with some scheme to get us crucified for the good of Israel.”
“While Yudah watches on with admiration you mean.” Theudas’ face contorted at his older brother as Yeshua continued. “He’s a great guy but he’s only ever been an armchair revolutionary. He likes the idea of rebellion, probably as a distraction from his real life. It probably reminds him of his roots.”
“That’s hardly fair!”
“Yeh, well look around you Theudas. His father was a farm laborer. You and I were born into our comfort; Yudah built his from nothing. A real revolutionary does not build this life for himself.” Yeshua used his eyes to point around the garden. “Yudah’s genuine enough, and he’s well connected. But in his heart he’s no rebel.”
“Well, I’m glad about that. And I’m certainly glad we bumped into him.”
“It’s who we bump into next that bothers me.” In his mind, Yeshua scanned the countless weathered faces he had seen in the synagogue, wondering how many brigands were baying for Roman blood. Or was it his blood they wanted? His mind’s eye settled only onto Kaleb and his one memorable sentence. He sighed to himself before continuing. “We have caused too many deaths . . . in Aphek, in Dor . . . in Narbata.”
“Well, our escape route’s cut off anyway. You may as well accept it. We’re still in the thick of it. I think that’s why I still don’t feel anything,” he added, with another yawn. “Except tired.”
4
The warmth of a booming laugh told the brothers that Yudah had returned with company. His arm was on the back of his companion who emerged almost reluctantly into the light of the garden. A figure who had to stoop as much as Yudah to pass through the archway leaned back as he walked forward.
“Yeshua, Theudas, this is Amram.” Yudah’s companion was impossible to age, but had the look of someone younger than his appearance suggested. In fact, he seemed to have missed an appointment with his grave. Hades evidently did not consider this too much of an inconvenience. The pursuit of Amram was clearly not worth any expense of energy. He would surely find his way back to the angel of death soon enough of his own accord. Amram eyed the brothers, revealing an ill-favored complexion restrained by dark hairs poised to turn grey at any moment. His smile, though requiring minimal effort, revealed a missing front tooth. Its absence cast upon that smile a trace of warmth that might otherwise have remained undetectable. “The finest marksman