The Galilean Secret: A Novel (15 page)

J
udas Iscariot wove through the crowd, dodging fishermen, shepherds and farmers who were returning home with their families.
I must know if this man is the Messiah.
He quickened his pace.
If he is, he will lead us to true victory and lasting peace.

Jesus was standing about thirty feet away. Halfway to him, Judas glanced back and saw Simon the Canaanite and Tobias Naphtali close behind. He moved ahead until he came to a group of about twenty women and men sitting on the grass. Judas slipped to the ground and joined them. A few moments later someone jostled him; he turned to see Simon and Tobias. “We decided that you’re right—we came to hear more,” Simon said as he and Tobias sat down. “No Galilean has been this popular since Judas of Gamla.”

There were baskets of bread and fish on the grass in front of the group. Jesus picked up the baskets, blessed them and began to pass them around. When he saw Judas Iscariot, Simon the Canaanite and Tobias Naphtali, he offered them the bread and fish. Famished, Judas took some of each and began to eat.

“What is your name?” Jesus asked.

“I am Judas Iscariot, from Kerioth in Judea.” He pointed to the other two men. “These are my friends Simon the Canaanite and Tobias Naphtali.”

Jesus put down the baskets. “You are a long way from home.”

“Yes, but for good reason.” Judas hesitated a moment. “We’re working to free our people.”

Jesus sat down, a serious expression on his angular features. “So am I.” He gestured toward the group. “These are my disciples. I invite you and your friends to join us. You will learn the true meaning of peace and freedom.”

Judas’ breathing became labored as he noticed a strikingly elegant woman with dark eyes and high cheekbones. She was slender, with long, silken hair the color of cinnamon and a radiant smile that shone with warmth and a touch of mystery. He was immediately attracted to her and as he listened to Jesus, he began to plan how he might meet her.

Jesus spoke with greater confidence than Judas had ever heard, even from Barabbas. The Nazarene’s eyes bore into him, reaching deep into his soul and making him feel embarrassed by his lust for the woman. Judas pondered whether to tell him about the uprising. Finally he decided only to make a general statement and said, “My friends and I are working with the great Barabbas to drive out the Romans.”

Jesus did not alter his expression. “Until our hearts are pure, winning wars will not make us free.”

Judas finished eating and set the basket aside. “But you promised freedom for the poor and the oppressed. That’s what Barabbas promises. Are you the one who is to bring us this freedom, or are we to wait for another?”

Jesus spread his hands. “Consider what you have seen and heard: The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”

Judas moved away, shocked. The man was hinting that he was the Messiah. Judas’ head throbbed. He tried to swallow but could not, nor could he stop his eyes from burning. Had he found the Messiah? Should he follow him? What about the uprising? If the Nazarene were lying, Judas would be left with nothing. On the other hand, Barabbas had no miraculous powers and was pinning his hopes on a disorganized band of fighters. If Jesus were the Messiah, he would surely lead the Jews to victory—and give his supporters prominent positions in the new government.

Why should I care about Barabbas?
Judas asked himself
. He exiled me. Fighting with the Messiah would be sweet revenge. And who knows what the rewards could be?

Jesus instructed his disciples to prepare to leave. Judas wiped sweat from his upper lip as he stood with Simon the Canaanite and Tobias Naphtali, watching as everyone gathered their belongings. A heavyset man with a thick black beard came over. “My name is Matthew,” he said. “I was a tax collector until I joined Jesus and found peace. He speaks the truth.”

Simon the Canaanite confronted Jesus. “You allow tax collectors to follow you?”

“Matthew now seeks justice for those he once cheated.” Jesus eyed Simon compassionately. “I can tell that you are a bitter man. If you follow me, love will change you too.”

Judas seized Simon and Tobias by the arms and led them away from the group. When they were out of earshot, he said, “I’ve never seen anyone heal as the Nazarene did. We’ve been waiting for the Messiah so long; maybe he has finally come.”

Tobias pulled his arm away. “Would the Messiah associate with tax collectors?”

Simon raised a hand dismissively. “This tax collector no longer works for the Romans—he’s following a man who speaks of freedom. I say we stay with the Nazarene and convince him to join our movement.”

Judas shifted his gaze from Simon to Tobias. “I agree. Simon and I will stay with the Nazarene. Tobias, you go back and tell the Zealots that we’ve found a strong ally for our cause.”

Concern swept across Tobias’ youthful face, but he nodded and hurried back to the Zealots. Judas turned and saw that Jesus and his disciples were leaving. He and Simon ran to catch up. When they came alongside Matthew, Judas asked about the striking woman he had noticed earlier.

“Her name is Mary Magdalene,” Matthew said without looking at him. “She is Jesus’ special friend.”

Judas thanked him and vowed to meet her at the first opportunity.

CHAPTER TWENTY

A WAVE OF TERROR WASHED OVER JUDITH AS SHE AWAITED HER TRIAL. She had attempted to steal a horse, and Barabbas had ordered the entire camp to join in deciding her fate. With dinner over, she was helping the women clean up, her cheeks burning at the thought of appearing before the thirty-eight men and sixteen women. The assembly would have influence, but Barabbas would render the final verdict.

Which could mean her death.

With the trial set to begin in half an hour, Judith stood at the edge of Qumran’s main plateau and hurriedly scrubbed a large iron pot, choking from fear and the briny odor. She picked up the tall ceramic jar that held the seawater for washing dishes, poured some water into the pot and cleaned out the crusted lentils with a homespun towel. When she finished, she brushed a wisp of hair out of her eyes and glanced at the gray-blue twilight sky. The evening was hot and stifling, with no wind blowing off the sea, and the sulfur stench hung heavily in the air.

Several men across the plateau were adding wood to the fire and talking among themselves. The women were beginning to congregate and greet one another. Suspicious that they were talking about her, she started to rehearse her defense but worried that no one would understand her actions.

True, it was wrong to steal a horse, but what else could she have done? She noticed a one-armed scorpion on the ground heading for the shelter of a cratered rock. The scorpion was weaving from side to side and convulsing in spastic gyrations whenever it hit a pebble. Her life seemed equally pathetic, except that her path was strewn with enormous stones, not small pebbles. Loneliness and shame had become as oppressive to her as the sheer cliffs of Qumran. That was why she had risked stealing the horse.

If she told her story, some of the women would have to empathize. Those by the fire appeared as forlorn as she did, their tunics ragged and soiled, their hair in need of washing, their faces showing the tension they felt. Didn’t they also get tired of living like outlaws? Didn’t they also feel lonely and estranged from their husbands? They must but couldn’t admit it—even to themselves.

She was one of them—a woman living in unbearable conditions and totally dependent on a man. She prayed that some of the women would sense her emptiness and relate it to their own. Then perhaps they would speak up and convince Barabbas to be merciful.

Hanna, the sturdy, plain-faced wife of Amos ben Perez, approached with another pot. She set it down and said, “You know how scarce horses are and how they’re prized by the men. How could you dare try to steal one?”

Judith just kept scrubbing and remembered how Simeon of Bethany had dragged her to Barabbas’ tent in the middle of the night; how Barabbas had stared stonily at her through sleepy eyes, his bushy hair disheveled. Finally he spoke. “What demons got into you, woman?” After scolding her profusely, he said, “You have risked the welfare of the camp for your own selfish ends, and you must pay for your recklessness.”

Barabbas had ordered Simeon to take her back to Dismas, who then stomped around their tent in rage and disbelief. “You were so concerned about your own reputation, but what about mine? You’ll make me a laughingstock.” He pulled his hair with both hands. “You’re younger and more naïve than I ever imagined.”

Pleading for mercy, Judith had finally calmed Dismas. Now she owed him her life. He could have sent her into the desert to starve.

Her face reddened as she looked up at Hanna. “I was so angry at Judas . . . and terribly lonely. I felt I had to leave.”

Hanna raised an eyebrow and turned to walk away. “Are you less lonely now?”

Judith poured water into the pot and stared after her. She wasn’t less lonely but hopefully wiser. As she finished washing the pot, the irony struck her: she had wanted to shame Judas Iscariot in front of everyone. Now she was being shamed. Her eyes filled with tears. She’d been so foolish. . . . As Simeon of Bethany had said, the horses could have escaped, and the resistance might never have recovered. She would tell her side of the incident with Judas and dispel the lies and gossip, but she would not involve Dismas by admitting her loneliness.

Barabbas blew the ram’s horn. She left the pots, walked over to the fire and sat cross-legged on the ground. It took a few minutes for everyone to gather, but when they were all seated in a large circle, Barabbas said, “You know why we are here. A very serious charge has been brought against Judith, wife of Dismas ben Zebulun. Dismas is a courageous warrior, respected by all, so we must treat his wife fairly. I first call on Simeon of Bethany to explain what happened.”

Simeon stood and described how he had apprehended Judith. “She was determined to flee—I saw it in her eyes.” He swept the entire assembly with his gaze. “Her deceit endangered us all. The horses could have escaped, and we would have become easy prey for the Romans.”

When Simeon had finished, Barabbas said, “I was tempted to send Judith away. I thought that if she wanted to leave, I would allow it. But I’m not a cruel man, and I decided to bring her before the entire camp. Now Dismas will speak in her defense.”

Dismas glanced at Judith and then stood and faced the assembly. “Judith left her home and family for our cause. She has tended wounds and forged weapons and prepared meals. No one can doubt her devotion—she has worked as hard as anyone in the dust and the heat.” Dismas paused, his mouth hardening into a tight line. “But she’s also quite young, and some of you women, especially, can understand how lonely she must feel to be away from home. I plead with you to show her mercy.” He caught Judith’s eye, the vein in his neck throbbing. “She has assured me that she’ll never do anything so foolish again.”

The spare, firm-jawed Mattathias ben Gaddi raised a hand and Barabbas called on him. Mattathias stood and drew a breath, glancing skyward as he composed his thoughts. His eyes turned fiery as he began to speak. “Let’s get to the heart of the matter. We have a horse thief among us. She may be young. She may be the wife of a respected fighter. But she committed a heinous crime. To have one horse stolen would have been a great loss, but if all the horses had been set free, we would be facing disaster.”

Mattathias surveyed the group. “We can never again trust Dismas’ wife. If we allow her to go unpunished, she may try to run away again, and others may be emboldened to do the same by our leniency. I, too, am not a cruel man, but I am a practical one.” Mattathias narrowed his eyes and glared at Judith. “As I see it, we have only two choices: Banish this woman to the desert or throw her off a cliff into the sea.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over the camp, broken only by an occasional fizzle or pop from the fire. Judith sat and stared into the flames. Despite the stifling air, she suddenly felt cold. So cold that she had to flex every muscle to keep from shivering. Not meeting anyone’s gaze for fear that the condemning stares would shatter her heart, she wondered why no one understood the stress she’d been under. Had no one acted in a way that they later regretted? Yes, she had done wrong, but not wrong enough to be driven into the desert or dashed on the rocks.

Miriam, the slender wife of the fierce fighter Uriah of Jericho, broke the silence. “I am haunted by Judith’s actions. At first I couldn’t believe that any woman could be so foolish. Now I feel that Judith has shamed all the women in camp. Our husbands wonder if they can trust us or if we might also try to steal a horse and flee. I agree with Mattathias. This woman must be purged from our ranks. Banishment or death is the only way to restore order and trust among us.”

Judith stole a glimpse at Miriam’s eyes, which were the color of a well shaft at midnight. She expected to see them brimming with rage and hate. Instead she saw fear, and it struck her how related hate and fear are, and how they combine to incite vengeance and make mercy impossible.

Amos ben Perez, thick-chested and balding, began to speak. “I must say a word on behalf of Judith,” he said. “I was there when she bandaged Judas Iscariot, and I saw her try to save Eleazar Avaran’s life. This woman has bravely served our cause. She has made a terrible mistake, but she’s not wholly to blame.” He paused and shot an indignant glance at Simeon of Bethany. “I’m appalled that the sentry let her get as far as the corral. This incident is partly his fault.”

Simeon leapt up, jutted out his rounded chin and placed both hands on his hefty waist. He glared at Amos and said, “How can you possibly blame me for this woman’s thievery? I risked my life to stop her.”

Barabbas waved a hand and ordered both men to sit down. “This trial is not about either of you,” he said. “It’s about Judith of Jerusalem.” Barabbas called for order and invited anyone else to speak. When no one rose, he said, “You have all had the chance to share in this judgment.” He turned toward Judith. “Now, young woman, what do you have to say in your defense?”

Judith knew that she must convince the assembly to give her another chance or she would be banished or killed. She stood and spoke in a steady, measured voice. “I came to Qumran with the best intentions. Like you, I yearn to drive the Romans from our land. But when Judas Iscariot lied and called me a whore, I felt humiliated and enraged.” Judith’s heart was beating in her throat. She glanced into the darkness and felt its murky oppression seep into her bones. “When he didn’t apologize, it was more than I could take.” Without thinking, she found herself speaking of Dismas and their relationship. “Dismas . . . Dismas is a good man, but the warfare has changed him. I felt lonely as well as humiliated, and I longed for home. I know how wrong it was to steal the horse. I only pray that you will try to understand and show me God’s mercy.”

When she had sat down, Barabbas remained quiet for a moment and then he said, “The camp has heard from all parties, and everyone has had the chance to speak. What say you about Judith’s punishment?”

The meeting erupted in shouting.

“Throw her off a cliff!”

“Show her mercy!”

“Drive her into the desert!”

“Give her another chance!”

The shouts set off a chorus of murmurs, which Barabbas quelled by saying, “Since there’s division among us, as commander, I will render the final judgment. Our camp is low on supplies, and Judith has shown herself to be a fearless thief. I order Dismas to go to Jerusalem to steal for our cause, and I propose that Judith go with him. They must rob the homes of the rich who live near Herod’s palace. We will meet them later, in Zedekiah’s Cave beneath the city, and enjoy the spoils.” He looked first at Judith and then at Dismas. “I’m giving you the chance to restore our trust. Your fate is in your hands.”

Dismas raised an eyebrow, a sober expression on his evenly molded features. “This will not be easy, but a woman will arouse fewer suspicions than another man.”

Barabbas raised his arms and declared the meeting over. As everyone was leaving, Judith approached Dismas and fell into his arms. “I am so sorry for all I’ve put you through.” She laid her head on his chest. Mattathias was the last to walk away and they were finally alone. “I must be honest—I’m not sure I can stay with you, let alone help you rob houses.”

Dismas backed away and sat down, his loneliness showing as he stared up at her. “I’m sorry you are unhappy. I have not been much of a husband to you.”

Kneeling beside him, she struggled to keep her voice steady. “No, you haven’t. War, not me, is what you live for. Before Judas Iscariot forced himself on me, I was planning to ask you to take me home.”

Dismas reached out to touch her arm. “I need you more than ever. If you’ll give me another chance, I promise to change.”

Judith hadn’t expected such an honest response. “Would you really try?”

“Yes,” he said, taking her hand in his, “because I still love you, and I believe that you love me.” He gave her a roguish grin. “Now we have the chance to steal for the resistance. We’ll make a good team. Barabbas mentioned the rich Jews who live near Herod’s palace. I know one of them—a Pharisee named Nicodemus ben Gorion, an old friend of my father’s. He has purchased incense and spices from our market for many years. He’s wealthy and his family worships in the Temple on the Sabbath, so he won’t be home. I’ll make you a promise: When we get to Jerusalem, if you still want to leave, you can return to your family. But if you decide you love me, you can help with the robbery and recommit to the Zealot cause.”

As the fire died down, Judith knew she couldn’t stay at Qumran: Judas’ lies and the shame of her failed thievery made the already heavy burden of her loneliness impossible to carry. To buy time she decided to go with Dismas. “All right, I’m willing to help with the robberies in Jerusalem.”

Dismas pulled her close and she didn’t resist. Nestled gently against his chest, she felt the warmth of his body and the rhythm of his heart. She peered up into his large brown eyes, as earnest as when they had first met. He kissed her tenderly and laid a hand on her breast. As the last embers of the fire went dark, a sharp yearning for love—real love—seized her.

But she wondered if she would ever find it with Dismas.