Mary of Nazareth (6 page)

The laughter died down. Barabbas smoothed his beard and shook his head, as if attempting to restrain his temper. “The people of Nazareth are cowards,” he muttered. “All except your father, from what I hear.”

“That's why my father is in Herod's prison, Barabbas. We're wasting time with this idle chatter.”

She was afraid the harshness of her tone would make him angry. His companions lowered their eyes. Behind the group of women, Obadiah had gotten to his feet, a stuffed loaf in his hand, a frown on his face.

Barabbas hesitated. He looked them all up and down. Then he said, with surprising calm, “If your father has your character, then I'm starting to understand what happened!”

He pointed to one of the recesses in the painted walls surrounding the pool. It had been furnished as a kind of bedchamber. There was a straw mat covered with sheepskins, two chests, and a lamp. A silver pitcher and goblets stood on a large brass table framed by two wooden stools with bronze embellishments. Other furniture and luxury objects, doubtless stolen from rich merchants, had been placed around the recess.

In spite of her impatience and nervousness, Miriam noticed Barabbas's pride as he filled a glass with fermented milk mixed with honey and handed it to her.

“Now tell me everything,” he said, making himself comfortable.

M
IRIAM
spoke for a long time. She wanted Barabbas to understand how it had come about that her father, the gentlest and kindest of men, had killed a soldier and wounded a tax collector.

When she had finished, Barabbas whistled through his teeth. “There's no doubt they're going to crucify your father. Killing a soldier and sticking a spear in a tax collector's stomach…They won't go easy on him.” He ran his fingers through his beard, in a mechanical gesture that made him seem older than he was. “And, of course, you want me to attack the fortress of Tarichea.”

“My father mustn't die on the cross. We have to stop them.”

“Easier said than done, my girl. You're more likely to die with him than save him.” His words were ironic, but his face betrayed his discomfort.

“So be it, then,” Miriam replied. “Let them kill me with him. At least I won't have bowed my head to injustice.”

She had never before spoken so vehemently or so categorically. But she realized that she was telling the truth. If she had to risk death to defend her father, she would not hesitate.

Barabbas realized that, which made his own discomfort all the more intense.

“Courage isn't enough,” he said. “The fortress isn't a field of beans you can just walk in and out of! You're fooling yourself. You can't get him out of there.”

Miriam stiffened, and she pursed her lips.

Barabbas shook his head. “No one can do it,” he insisted, striking his chest. “Not even me.”

He hammered out these last words and looked her up and down with all the pride of a young rebel. She sustained his gaze, icy-faced.

Barabbas was the first to turn away his eyes. He snorted, got up nervously from his stool, and walked to the edge of the pool. Some of his companions must have heard what Miriam had said, and everyone was looking at him. He turned, his face hard, his fists clenched, his whole body taut with the strength that had made him a feared leader.

“What you ask is impossible!” he cried fiercely. “What do you think? That you can fight Herod's mercenaries the way you sew a dress? Or that attacking his fortresses is as simple as robbing a caravan of Arab merchants? You can't be serious, Miriam of Nazareth. You have no idea what you're talking about!”

A shiver of dread went through Miriam. Never for a moment had she imagined that Barabbas might refuse to help her. Never for a moment had she thought that the people of Nazareth might be right.

Was Barabbas nothing but a thief, then? Had he forgotten the fine-sounding words he had used to justify his activities? Her disappointment was replaced by contempt. Barabbas the rebel was no more. He had acquired a taste for luxury, he had become corrupted by the things he stole and had become like their original owners: a hypocrite, more interested in gold and silver than in justice. His courage amounted to nothing but easy victories.

She rose from her stool. She wasn't going to humiliate herself before Barabbas, she wasn't going to beg. She assumed a haughty smile and was about to thank him for his hospitality.

He leaped forward, his hand raised. “Stop! I know what you're thinking. I can see it in your eyes. You think I've forgotten what I owe you, that I'm only a robber of caravans. All nonsense! You're not thinking with your head, only with your heart!”

His voice throbbed with anger, and his fists were clenched. Some of his companions came closer, drawn by his raised voice.

“Barabbas hasn't changed,” he went on. “I steal to live and to support those who follow me. Like those boys you saw earlier.” He pointed at those who had approached. “Do you know who they are?
Am ha'aretz.
People who've lost everything because of Herod and those misers in the Sanhedrin. They no longer expect anything of anyone. Especially not from the subservient Jews of Galilee! Nor from the rabbis, who do nothing but mumble meaningless words and bore us rigid with their lessons. ‘May those who come from the mud return to the mud!'—that's what they think. If we didn't steal from the rich, we'd die of starvation, that's the truth. And the people of Nazareth certainly wouldn't care.”

He was shouting now, the veins standing out on his forehead, his cheeks flushed with anger. Everyone pressed behind him, facing Miriam. Obadiah pushed his way through to the front.

“I never forget my objective, Miriam of Nazareth!” Barabbas cried, beating his chest. “Never! Not even when I'm asleep. To bring down Herod and drive the Romans out of Israel, that's what I want. And to kick the asses of those bastards in the Sanhedrin who get fat off the people's misery.”

Unimpressed by the ferocity of his words, Miriam shook her head. “And how do you plan to bring down Herod, if you can't even get my father out of the fortress of Tarichea?”

Barabbas slapped his thighs, his eyes screwed up with anger. “You're only a girl, you don't understand anything about war! I don't care if I die. But these people follow me because they know I wouldn't drag them into any futile adventures. The fortress of Tarichea is guarded by two Roman cohorts. Five hundred legionnaires. Plus a hundred mercenaries. How many of us are there? We'll never get to your father. What use would our deaths be? The only person who'd benefit would be Herod!”

Pale-faced, her hands shaking, Miriam nodded. “Yes. Of course you're right. I was mistaken. I thought you were stronger than you are.”

Barabbas let out a cry that echoed across the pool and throbbed between the columns. Miriam was already heading for the exit, but he gripped her arm.

“You're mad, raving mad! You don't understand, do you? Even if he could get out of the fortress, your father will be like us for the rest of his life. A fugitive. He can never go back to his workshop. The mercenaries will destroy your house. You and your mother will have to hide in Galilee all your lives….”

Miriam pulled herself free. “And what
you
don't understand is that it's better to die fighting! Better to die confronting Herod's mercenaries than to be humiliated on the cross! Herod is winning, Herod is stronger than the people of Israel, because all we do is bow our heads when he tortures our loved ones in front of our eyes.”

These words were followed by a stunned silence.

Obadiah was the first to break it. He went up to Miriam and Barabbas. “She's right. I'm going with her. I'll hide, and at night I'll go and take down her father from the cross.”

“You keep quiet or I'll kick your backside!” Barabbas began, testily. Suddenly, he broke off, and he turned to his companions with a gleam in his eyes. “You know something? The little monkey's right! It's stupid to get ourselves slaughtered trying to enter the fortress. But once Joachim's on the cross, that's another story!”

         

“
T
HEY
won't let your father rot for too long in jail,” Barabbas explained eagerly. “Their jail's too full. Once they've sentenced you, they can't wait to crucify you. That's when we'll be able to save him. Taking him down from that damned cross. Obadiah's right. We'll do it at night. On the quiet, if we can. I've been dreaming of pulling off a stunt like this for a long time. With a little luck, we'll even be able to save a few others with him. But we'll have to be like foxes: get in there quickly, take them by surprise, and get away even more quickly!”

His anger had passed. He was laughing like a child now, delighted to have thought up the trick he was going to play on the mercenaries of the Tarichea garrison.

“Rescuing people from the field of crosses in Tarichea! By God, if he exists, this is going to cause a stir. Herod will eat his beard! There'll be hell to pay for the mercenaries!”

They all laughed, already imagining their success.

Miriam was worried. Wouldn't it be too late? Before they tied him to the cross, her father could be beaten, badly wounded, even killed. People were often hung on the cross already dead.

“That only happens to the lucky ones. Those who've been granted a special favor to shorten their suffering. But in the case of your father, they'll want to see him suffer as long as possible. He'll hold out. They'll hit him, insult him, starve him, that's for sure. But he'll grit his teeth and survive. And we'll get him down off the cross on the first night.”

Barabbas turned to his companions and informed them of what awaited them. “They won't like us saving people from the cross. The mercenaries won't leave us in peace after this. We won't be able to come back here, it won't be safe anymore, and in any case we won't be able to show our faces around town again. Once we've pulled this off, we'll have to separate for a few months and live on what we have—”

One of the older ones interrupted him, raising his knife. “Don't waste your spit, Barabbas! We know what's in store for us, and we don't mind. Anything that hurts Herod is fine by us!”

They all cheered. In an instant, Herod's former pool became the scene of intense activity, as Barabbas cried out orders and everyone prepared to depart.

Obadiah pulled Barabbas impatiently by the sleeve. “I have to go and tell the others. We'll leave without waiting for you, as usual, right?”

“But bring the mules and donkeys first. We'll need the carts.”

Obadiah nodded. He walked away, turned after a few steps, pointed at Miriam, and smiled, showing his bad teeth. “I was telling the truth earlier, you know. Even if you hadn't wanted to, I'd have gone with her.”

Barabbas laughed and wagged a finger at him. “You'd have obeyed me, or I'd have tanned your hide.”

“Hey, don't forget I'm the one who had the idea about how to save her father, not you! You're not my leader anymore. We're partners now.” His strange face lit up with pride, and for a moment it looked strangely beautiful. He added, cheekily, “And you'll see, she won't love you after this, she'll love me!”

And he strode off, his laugh echoing between the ruined walls of the baths. Out of the corner of her eye, Miriam noticed that Barabbas was blushing.

         

A
T
nightfall, a caravan, no different than all the others that circulated on the roads of Galilee on the days of the great markets in Capernaum, Tarichea, Jerusalem, or Caesarea, left Sepphoris.

There were ten carts loaded with bales of wool, hemp, and sheepskins and sacks of grain, and drawn by beasts as poor in appearance as their owners. Each of the carts had a double bottom, in which Barabbas and his companions had concealed a fine collection of swords, knives, combat axes, and even a few Roman spears stolen from the storehouses.