Tuesday, 3rd of Elul
Second
watch of the day
3870
City of Antioch
-
“
Xavier Quintus Marcus…. "
“ Why does she speak of a Roman? “ An strikingly
educated male voice demanded, the familiar intolerance and hated that had only grown since General Titus’ destruction
of the their heart in Judea. He left in a flurry of rustling cloth and new sandals but the old woman smiled as she remembered
little Nimrod’s love for sandals and how he once lead gentle Hilkiah on a chase through a bed of stones and thistles
in a vain attempt to recapture a new pair that must have still had the smells on it that young dogs crave, for he didn’t
stop sneaking them away to chew on them until the sole of the old carpenter’s feet were worn smooth in the hollow center
of the sandal and the smell of his feet was too strong even for a ‘mighty hunter’ like Nimmy.
She began again with an apology to the listeners her eyes were too blinded by age to see, a little surprised at the number of voices and the mixture of gender, young and with old
that answered back, as they settled into the crowded, central courtyard. She found a new strength as she sat upright, leaned
against the vine-shadowed walls as questions between the blurred colors passed and people seemed ready to pause for as long
as she had the strength to continue to tell the tale of Jesus, as she had seen it, a young girl not yet betrothed.
“
Xavier Quintus Marcus was a friend of the Jews, having become one himself in midlife, despite the tedious rituals required
and the outright reluctance of even Jarius, to see him ‘lower’ himself to the status of a conquered people, but
they loved him all the more of his spirit, irregardless of his monetary help in maintaining the synagogue on the top of the
low hill overlooking Mount Tabgha. “
-
-
IIIXX D
K Oct - NP Fifth
hour of the day
779 AUC
Consuls, M. Licinius Crassus Frugi and Lucius Calpurius
Piso
Capernaum
-
When Machba`nel left Jerusalem to be with his mother despite the Prefect’s elaborate plans for the rural celebration
of Rome’s elaborate Winter’s Day games in Rome, in honor of the god of war, Mars, it was an obvious signal that
the surly warrior was cutting ties with the career that had possessed so much of both their lives. It didn’t help the
stern taskmaster’s attitude toward him any, Xavier thought as his stomach soured in a fresh knot of pain, brought about
by anxiety. He knew from friends they had in common that Machba`nel expressed awe and resentment that the Nazarene Jesus refused
to take on His enemies head first but contented Himself with teaching in the Temple openly despite the hostility showed him
as the celebration of the Civil New Year coincided with winter closed around the people. Freed from farming and concerns for
growing livestock, the simpler people gathered in growing numbers around the man with the miracle hands, Apparently finding
the advent of the rainy season’s discomfort from mud clogged roads to be small obstacles for the freedom to spend days,
even weeks if they chose, listening to the voice that spoke of Heaven and drew it near to the listener rather than drag the
listener into its dizzying heights. That Machba`nel made a point to keep his distance from Pontus Pilate, lest he hand the
assignment to someone more capable than he or Xavier had proved thus far wore on them both, but even more on the grizzled
campaigner exiled in shame as far from the necessary events of daily life in the Army as he could reach -even when Machba`nel
frequently reported that the teaching of the mild king were beginning to close doors on the brutal treachery of the zealot
leader. Twice he’d missed Barabbas only because the grizzled bandit had some kind of sixth sense that drove him out
of a bed still warm to the touch when he broke down the barriers.
Hearing that his adopted son was thick on the stench of Barabbas the zealot, but no closer to catching him than he
had ever been before Marcus replaced him in the hunt by order of Pontius Pilate, Procurator, should have cheered the failing
soldier. But it only made his own failure seem more pronounced. Resolutely, he rolled up the hand notations on the scrolls
and the scraps of notes from his spies and placed them on the low, bronze brazier to catch fire while Machba`nel was looking
in another direction. The attention he’d given to a shared plan to trap and seize the zealot suddenly seemed too great
an option for his son to succeed where he had failed! Then again, apparently Pilate was beginning to accede
to the idea of the religious elders in Jerusalem, Joseph Caiaphas and his deposed father-in-law Annas in particular, that
Barabbas would buzz around the Nazarene’s head as the focus of their symbolic energies. Bite off the head of the fly
and the wings of independence and sovereignty are soon enough stilled. And even his capture might mean nothing in the way
of redemption in the fierce German’s eyes?
‘He was tired tonight’, Xavier reflected, the blackness of his somber thoughts
overwhelming him despite the blessed silence of Shelomith’s lakeside house. ‘Tired. Body and soul’.
Giovanni was dying, and so with him, the last link to the past they dreamed about together as young men. It hurt more than
losing a wife or simply a friend, Giovanni knew him better than himself, his dark moods, the uncomfortable fits of anger,
the passion that could burn white-hot while it yet burned, yet the role of master and slave had long ago become
a bond and knowing him at his darkest moments when he thought himself alone, with only a slave in attendance yet Giovanni
dared to loved him closer than a brother or a mere mistress could.
The thin paper scraps shriveled and turned as black and void as the dreams of glory he’s once conceived for himself;
grateful now that Marcus’ mother had refused to be drawn into ‘that part’ of the life he shared with her
son. Then he paced unevenly toward the spacious doorway that lead out to a view of the great lake abiding quietly beside his
the death throes of his dreams. Never a romanticist, he yet looked across the shallow, deeply rutted lane at the former Moorish
mansion built on a high foundation of black basalt rock, like that he’d ordered cut and hauled from the distant mountains
to raise up the local synagogue, already on the highest point in the city, and he realized the poetic implications of the
reused house and grounds as a pleasure center for the Jew and the Jebusite who were shunned by normal men. His
‘wife’s’ daughter kept herself in the cage intended for men’s perverse lusts, trapping the two lovers,
now that she was given sight by the Nazarene, Jesus, and it seemed to him an almost a poetic form of revenge that only the
Highest could arrange. Not denying men outright but forcing them to deny themselves-it seemed a cunning and brilliantly cold
strategy worthy of a Roman!
He no longer thought of himself as ‘Abishalom ben Judah’, though having lived the last three decades
in the duel countries of Israel and Judah, he’d earned sufficient trust in the ranks and with his mentors in the Forum
to rise to the rank Chief Centurion for Tertius Nectovelelius of the venerable house of the Crescer family, the Legati
for Pilate, stationed in Jerusalem, and as a man-of-war whom the wily that the brutal Procurator trusted enough to call in
on indigenous religious matters that bordered Rome’s interest in their affairs, if he trusted him in no other. Until
recently he assumed he understood his adopted son because of his skill in the whims and whys of Judaism after years of private
instruction and diligent study, now he wondered if he understood either? Machba`nel, now middle aged, was a soldier of repute,
born to lead but able to follow. A rare combination that would have made him an enemy if they weren’t linked by two
decades of mutual trust as father and son.
A wind from the distant blue lines of mountains etched against the cloudless night sky wrapped around him like the
chill of the grave, carrying the sounds of men’s voices as they put out to fish for the night. The sound of it made
his mouth water. Shelomith would have been horrified to know it, but he especially loved the tender and succulent flesh of
the bottom dwelling, soft-bodied fish with whiskers. He had to admit that perhaps…perhaps his clinging to the ways
of the Jews was slipping even more than his ultimate refusal to accept the loss inherent in circumcision, for then any man
might see him and guess at his moment of weakness, a failed attempt to placate a vengeful GOD whom he had yet to face, as
death approached with the growing knot in his groin.
None
of Evi’s potents or foul tasting medicines were helping, any more than they had helped Marcus when he was dying of what
started as a minor foot rash two years ago. If anything they made him feel worse, but he was too proud to go to the
Nazarene and ask for help, even though He had cured Marcus while he was still-to all the world-a Roman soldier! If He knew
somehow that Marcus had been a Jew, born of Observant parents, how quickly would the prophet guess that he was only a
‘token’ follower of his God’s religion? It would be too embarrassing to ask and then be refused.
Yet…for Giovanni’s sake, to ask Jesus of Nazareth to heal him, who was a good man -heart and soul- it would…he
could…if only!
At his sudden awareness
of his adopted son’s nearness, Xavier became aware of the sickly sweet stench of rot that rising from his second loincloth.
A reminder that Marcus had been healed -without even asking- while he was left to rot unless he lowered his pride
and forgot his standards! He lashed out at the middle-aged warrior who was near, because the Nazarene wasn’t.
“ I hear ‘Cilu’ Masavo is about to replace you, the way you
replaced me! “ Xavier said mockingly, unable to keep in the hurting bile
any longer.
“ Titus ‘Cilu’ Masavo built his
entire career around holding a plate under his superior officer’s ass in the field to keep their hands from getting
dirty; just so he could run and report what they ate for dinner! I won’t have a man like that step
in after I’ve used up myself and my men to run that old dog fox to the ground! “
Xavier looked up in shock. The middle-aged soldier’s respect for him as a father figure had never been breeched
so openly. He felt like picking up a stone and battering the scarred face into a bloody pulp. ‘ Would it leave him
nothing of his dignity? ‘
Unaware
of the silent man’s thoughts, Machba`nel vented the bitterness of his futility. “
I have less than twenty-four more Ides and Kalends to catch the bastard. I won’t
have a man like that smugly lick the gravy off his face and have his back hollowed out by the percussion of congratulations
he never earned! “
“
Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. “ Xavier temporized, in a tone more placating than he cared to hear in
his own ears. “ What would your precious ‘prince of peace’ say, if he heard you talking like that? “
But as soon as he said the words, he felt the hard stare of the younger man as the air thickened
around them with hostility.
“
If he doesn’t know the kind of man I am and the thoughts I harbor in me, then he isn’t the Man I think
he is! ….I give you my word ….by all that I hold dear as a citizen of Rome … that
before the final celebration of Armilustrium climaxing my tenure of service, as we ritually purify our weapons
and put them away for winter, I will see that defiled corpse hung on a cross bar of Judean wood so strong they’ll have
to saw the piece in half and buried the pieces with his stiffened corpse! But why would this be of any concern to Abishalom
ben Judah, the prince of the Jews? “
Xavier felt his mouth go dry and it stuffed itself with humiliated silence rather than risk shedding the tears so near.
He winced involuntarily as the younger man raced toward him, gripping his upper forearm until the spot set the other pains
free to lash at his control. He raised himself to his fullest height despite the pain it cost him in his groin.
‘Barabbas or this man Jesus?‘
He quested twice inside his mind, but a different set of words fell out of his mouth when he forced his parched lips
apart to reproach the stranger who pressed so near to him.
“
What do I know of the man who took that name? ‘Father of peace.’ It was thirty years ago. I did
them a favor. Most of them would already be dead and moldering in their grave, of starvation or childhood sickness, if we
hadn’t snatched them away from the pap for that brute of a pig that was about to die anyway! “
“ Abba forgive me, I have no right to cast my doubts on you or gnash at you with my own bloody
teeth! Forgive, me, if you can! “
Tears lined the
lower lids of the stocky man as he looked up with an effort.
“
Call me Pater, or better yet, Xavier. I don’t deserve to be loved with the love you cloak me
with as if I were reclined on my pulvinar with the other gods! “
“ Pater….Xavier….it was you who taught me compassion to my enemies
and fidelity to my beliefs. It was you who taught me it takes a man to persuade another by clear words and brutal
honesty rather than brute strength. It was you, Abba, who gave me an image of a man that I might measure each small
step of progress against. The man who whelped me from my mother’s brutal rejection beat me like a dog because he didn’t
dare correct Shelomith to her face…. Please forgive my misuse. Your friendship means more to me as I find myself corrupted
by much by doubts as by age, and yet again, I hold you up an as example of what a man ought to be… forgive me?
“
“ Who am I to judge another, Son? Shall we simply go to the Baths and sweat
away this feminine need for cloy words for emotions that we both know without having to clog up like a blackhead with the
need to speak them? “
“
Again, I respectfully follow your lead. “ Machba`nel agreed, forcing a
smile in his self-inflicted torment.
“
Don’t forget your plate in case I want to take a crap along the way. “
They
both laughed harder than the illusion required, but as Machba`nel started to pull away, the older man clung to him for a moment,
looking at his face with love and tenderness he thought never to see again. With his knees shaking slightly from the exertion
of being so long on his feet, Xavier reached up on tie-top and kissed the clawed indentation on this adopted son’s left
cheek, the one he returned with from fighting the Norse and their wild dogs. But he had no words left to say, even if he wanted
to use them, and he leaned heavily on the support the younger man silently offered to him as they strode into the sunlight
the way they felt Romans should stride as Masters of the world.
Because Shelomith
was so caught up in the one living child capable of pleasing her, as no mere man could hope to do in the sun’s shinning
presence, Xavier did an uncommon thing for him any more. He took a walking stick and ambled down the sandy path to the edge
of the shoreline, wanting to see what phase the moon would be when it rose, and wanting to be alone. He was caught off guard
by the sight of a slender and straight young woman remaining on the rocky shoreline after the fishermen put out on their boats.
The unmarried younger sister of the new king. It seemed strange to see her standing alone until he noticed
the small speckled form running up and down the rocky shoreline, scratching at rocks and overturning them before shoving his
nose down into the newly recreated hole and occasionally bobbing his head as if wolfing down whole whatever morsel he had
found worthy of a growing dog’s appetite. Her hair caught simply in a woven homespun scarf that draped casually around
her shoulders allowing only the ends of her hair to weave in the strengthening breeze off the deceptively calm appearing water.
Hugh storms could blow down from the bluish heights the mountains and wreck havoc with any small craft caught miles from land.
Like their lives as Josef bar Quo and his cronies in Rome were surely beginning to look for ways to discredit or disillusion
her eldest brother before he could claim his rightful throne from Rome’s clinched fist!
It shocked and horrified him to remember the part he played in the mad king’s attempt to stop a transformation
he wouldn’t even live to see, and it saddened him more
than he thought it was possible for a human soul to bear. The Child Herod the Great attempted to kill had grown to manhood in the same years that he, given the rank of Centurion for his part in the slaughter of the young sons in Bethlehem nearly thirty
years ago, had only grown older and sadder, and now
the inevitable moment had come for Him to take His rightful place in Jerusalem, over the Idmunean’s remaining sons.
Xavier watched the tall, child-like Jewess who had captured his grown son’s heart, and he had to shake his head
in wonder. Having experiencing Ahava ben Jose’s natural hospitality and curiosity, he felt a pull that he politely pushed
aside. Having made peace with his age, and rather
looking forward to the politically advantageous marriage to Shelomith bat Elnaam, he didn’t wish for any last minute
complications to forbid his retirement to Italia
on her small but productive estates on the southern coast,
far from the vulgar realities of Rome and its Caesar’s! This willing little virgin’s brother was austere, a prophet
with his sight on higher things, so he would demand no less than the loss of the comforts that Abishalom relished, but he
admired the purity of the man’s call. All of which made his son’s interest in Jesus of Nazareth all the more improbable.
He wasn’t even aware of the impulse to seek her out, to find some way to make peace with things that he couldn’t
change until he was actually stepping down the uneven stones leading from the garden wall to the grove of trees where he thought
to stop without actually speaking to her, if she
showed the slightest repugnance or fear. He’d done enough already to inhibit his son’s life, why make an enemy
of the man he chose to admire as he once admired him?
One
of the tree bases moved. It was the red haired giant, who’d lighted a small fire in the sand, lined with stones. He
tried to make himself smile. The man might only be
a servant, but he still had all the height and heft that made him so feared in the gladiatorial tournaments of Rome’s
bloodied ease.
“
Shalom aleikhem, good sir. “ Ahava called out brightly once the speckled
dog smelled the new scent on the air and abandoned hi chase through the mud to race at him. “
You’re Xavier the Centurion, aren’t you adonai? “ She asked
politely, stepping back a pace at a subtle signal from her standing bodyguard.
“
You may know me better as Abishalom ben Judah. I serve under the Roman Procurator Pontius Pilate himself.
“ He said as means of introduction.
“ I know. “ She agreed quietly,
the look of trust on her face eased a stone lodged against his heart that he recognized only by its sudden absence.
A
smile came to the weather toughened skin, softening it a little more. Despite the power this innocent girl
obviously held over his son, who was currently away on foot
stealthily following the Nazarene’s party with a small squad of well trained men of war, wherever they were camped for
the night like vagabond, he little trusted virgins, they were too strict in the code of ethics they expected of the men new
to their lives, but following the death of the fragile rich young woman Marcus had planned to marry for several years,
he could see why a healthy and interesting bit of flesh might draw out the heart of a sin-wearied warrior. He wasn’t
above feeling the pull himself. But had Keren-happuch lived she would have been of more value to his career than the daughter
of another pretender to the throne of this backwater providence and its quarrelsome Jewish population.
Her peaceful spirit challenged his sense of pomp and authority as she folded her hands meekly in her lap and looked
up at him as trusting as the puppy who slept on his cloak at her knees. It both awed and annoyed him. Her brother wasn’t
King yet, thought the people had a long history of rising up the most humble over them to be swayed by what the Cesar’s
already know. How could she, a mere slip of a girl, possess such dignity?
“ That’s not my birth name, of course. “
“ Yes, I
know. “ She agreed politely and his brows tightened their attempt
to touch one another over his high, thin nose.
‘There
is a mix of blood for you to have such dark olive skin and the look of a desert eagle, Centurion. ‘
Ahava was thinking to herself, smiling in his long silence, though she was too well bred to say anything aloud
that might cause offense.
“
The name intrigued me. “ He continued guardedly, breaking the silence but
annoyed to hear only the sound of his own voice. It encouraged him to say too many personal things that
he hadn’t shared since his own wife was young. “ And I took it when I converted to your peculiar
religion. I wished to convey strength so I took the name of ‘Judah’, the warrior prince of Jewish Scripture.
“
“ Yet ‘Abishalom’ means ‘father of peace’? “
She probed delicately and for an instant he
wished she would touch his knee, simply to complete the sense of connection to another human being. Like Abishag, the gentle
virgin for King David who kept him warm as he read about in the scroll of the kings, the lion had to bow before the lamb.
Her peaceful spirit unchallenged by his insecurities.
“ I am the adopted father
of the man you call Machba`nel ben Abishalom. “ He warned sternly, waiting for her response.
She nodded, growing more comfortable
with him by the moment as he grew decidedly more uncomfortable.
“ That would explain the similarity in names, adonai. “
“
I have the power of life and death over this whole providence! “
“ I
know. “
“
By Jove’s beard, is there anything that you don’t know? “
“ A great
deal. “ She replied honestly, mistaking it for a question.
He laughed out loud, as though he were unfamiliar
with it, alarming the figure hunched now by the fire,
patting the dog but holding him, as if ready for the attack, which the friendly wag of the dog’s tail denied for all
of the nerve rattling awareness of the difference of color in his eyes. One blue and one green.
“
A dear friend of my brother, Adam. “ She explained, and at
the ease in her voice the oversized man turned on his other side and returned to his pretense of sleep.
She made a place for him out of the wind, then knelt by his knee, leaning against him as companionably as if she were
still a child. Clearly she’d been raised in a house of trust and he had no intention of being the one to spoil that
illusion.
“ My son would have killed himself rather than lose his place in the army. I wish I
knew why it was so important to him? “ His head turned slightly toward
the glowing embers. “ Do you know? Beloved? “
His tongue shaped the word to its
meaning rather than it’s common usage and the last of her reservations toward him ceased. She sat back against her heels
and gave it serious thought.
“ No, I don’t. But my brother Jesus has talked with Machba`nel in depth, perhaps
he would be the one to ask, adonai Abishalom. “
“ You are so formal
with me, but you call my son by his name? “ He teased lightly.
“
It’s an unusual name. “
“ His natural father was a scholar, as well as an excellent vintner, one is learned,
the other is present in the womb of a man’s mother. I guess religious men don’t think or act the way we could
understand them. His mother is an unusual woman too, but I believe you’ve met her? “
“ We’ve
talked, but I don’t really know her. “
The
old man’s shoulders bowed.
“
I’ve known her for twenty-four years and I feel the same way, princess. “
His look of concern made him
repent grunting as he stretched out his foot. Alexander the Great revolutionized warfare with the invention of stirrups on
saddles, but he never envisioned the cost to an old man’s foot by using one with three broken bones! He
died too young to ever experience age or defeat, both of which were weighing heavily on him as he sat on the low stool and
knew he’d run out of reasons to stay. When he really didn’t want to go.
“ Perhaps you should talk to my brother? “
She suggested then blanched, remembering that she hadn’t offered him any of the formalities expected by distinguished
visitor his age! He was familiar enough with their customs to recognize the look and stop her as she would have scrambled
to go get the wooden bowl and fresh water for his feet.
“
I don’t have time. I didn’t come in as a friend. “ He
said bluntly, watching her face for some sign of deceit. “ But I leave as
one. “
“ But my brother could... “
“ Your brother,
Jesus of Nazareth? “
“
You’ve heard of him? “ She demanded, in an excited tone.
“ Many have
heard of Jesus, and many more will. “
At her look of puzzlement he felt compelled to explain himself, without knowing where the impulse originated.
“
Your brother is a wise man, and I believe a prophet, for all of his youth. “ He stopped, preoccupied by private thoughts.
He’d studied the Messianic literature in depth, only to find that no two authorities agreed. What hope did he have except
to witness it unfold and then to understand from its backwash.
“ My brother could answer many of your questions, that I can’t even begin
to understand, much less answer, adonai. “
“ No,
thank you, Little One. “ He disavowed tenderly. “
One dreamer in a family is sufficient. “ He said with a dramatic
flaring of his cloak that was only partially marred by the weight of the sleeping pup on it. He hid the pain standing abruptly
caused him, but obviously not enough for she lifted his hand and placed on her shoulder.
“
I’ll walk you back to the garden door. “
She wasn’t sure what prompted her to say
that, except there was something about the powerful old man that struck a cord in her as she recognized the cost of his long
isolation. “ My sister Deborah says I am dreamer!
But I don’t think she means it in a complimentary way.
‘Neither do I, toward Machba`nel!‘ He thought angrily, but she wouldn’t
understand that he meant the one and not the other,
and there wasn’t time enough to explain. He paused, listening for the pattern of rain or wind before he lifted the heavy
wooden bar. If he had to move swiftly to avoid the
storm he could taste on the air he wanted to do it on the incline where neither she nor the servants of the house, if they
were about, could see him in the struggle!
“ I envy the young man who will marry you, Beloved. He... “
“ I’m
not getting married. She said firmly, her face hardening.
“ Yes you are.
“ He replied equitably, as he bent low and kissed her cheek. Then as he started to leave, watching out from either edge of the heavy skin to be
certain only the trees’ shadows waiting for him in the small courtyard.
“ If you were my daughter, Beloved. “ He said tenderly,
looking back at her upturned face. “ I would want to tell you how
much you have in store for you once you are old enough to be fulfilled as a woman, not merely taken as a woman!
“
“
I’ve seen my brother Joses naked and the fulfillment you speak of... “
Anger silenced her more than his
swift look of sorrow.
“
Then your brother has wronged you greatly! And the loss is the man’s who would have grown you in his tender love
and affection. When the time had come. “
Ahava relented, as hard as she fought against it. Jesus had said much the same thing, in his story
about finding ripe figs only when they’d had the time to mature on their own. She wished he’d change the subject,
because she was embarrassing him as much as he was discomforting her.
He let out a ragged sigh and held a portion of the skin back until a tiny diamond of light shown on the worn flagstones
he’d paid to have quarried. Age overwhelmed him as he saw how much he had left unsaid, and how much she had told in
those few words. But it closed a gap between them that neither age nor culture could diminish.
“ My son’s feet were putrefying. A soldier who can’t walk is of value to
no one and he wouldn’t let Evi cut them to stumps, so at least he could live. Not that I blame him. What recruit wants
to learn soldiering when the truth of what could happen to him is there before him as a daily reminder?
“ He seemed to be talking to himself more than to her. But she listened with rapt attention
nonetheless. She knew so little about men, civilians or soldiers, and here was a man as kind to her as her father, sharing
secrets she might never otherwise learn.
“ He said he stepped into the water while the heavens were opened up with thunder and
no rain. Like the old wives’ tales about the Pool of Siloam in Jerusalem, and he was healed. Yet he claims your brother
was the cause for his being healed. The king asked to see him and now they think him half-mad but none can dispute the validly
of his healing. What do you think? “
“ I think he’s in his right mind, and I think he’s telling the truth.
I’ve seen things in this very city that would have you lock me away or have me stoned as a blasphemer if I tried to
tell them to you, adonai! “ She said so earnestly he couldn’t
doubt that she believed what she was trying to say.
“
You don’t have to be able to explain, to believe it. It’s incontrovertibly a miracle from Yahweh
Elohim, Blessed be His name. “
“ Do you know what that word means, Little One? “
He asked gently, picking up a flap of skin and looking carefully at the outlined tree nearest the door.
When he looked back she was
watching him in all seriousness.
“
I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t. “
