Mary of Nazareth (11 page)

“Trusting in the stars!” Giora's beard quivered, and his shoulders shook with rage. “Absurd! You, a follower of the sages, dare to repeat such nonsense?”

Joseph of Arimathea's smile was broader than ever now, but just as glacial as before.

Obadiah had left the oven and was standing beside Miriam. She sensed that he was having to stop himself from jeering. Out in the yard, the newcomers had risen, embarrassed by Giora's anger. While Joachim appeared to be amused by the situation, Yossef was watching the two Essenes anxiously. Without responding to Giora's belligerence, Joseph of Arimathea pointed to a free place on the bench.

“Giora, my friend,” he said calmly, “do join us. Sit down and drink some milk. It'll be good for us to get to know one another.”

“There's no point. We don't need to know one another, we only need to know Yahweh. I am going back to my prayers in order to cultivate that knowledge.”

He turned abruptly, glared at Miriam, Halva, and Obadiah, who were in his way, then turned again, just as abruptly.

“Unless we start the meeting we've come here for, and get it over with?”

Joachim shook his head. “Nicodemus isn't here yet. We ought to wait for him.”

“Nicodemus from the Sanhedrin?” Giora said disgustedly.

Joachim nodded. “He's coming all the way from Jerusalem. It's a long journey, he has to be careful.”

“That's the Pharisees for you! They'd keep God himself waiting!”

“Let's give him another day,” Joseph of Arimathea intervened, ignoring Giora's invectives as usual. “Besides, our friends need to rest. The mind is clear only when the body is at peace.”

Giora laughed. “Rest! A body at peace! Damascus nonsense! Study and pray if you want to have a clear mind. That's what you need. Anything else is folly and weakness!”

This time he disappeared behind the house without turning back.

Obadiah gave a stifled groan and touched Miriam's hand. “I may have judged him badly, this Giora. There's no need for battles or rebellions. Just put him in front of Herod. In less than a day, the king would be even sicker and more insane than he is now. ‘Giora our secret weapon,' that's what we should call him!”

He had said this in a loud voice, with such comical seriousness that Halva and Miriam burst out laughing.

From the table in the yard, the men looked at them and frowned. Barabbas gave Obadiah a scathing look. But Joseph of Arimathea, who like the others, had heard what Obadiah had said, responded with laughter, although in moderation. That set the others giggling, which did them all a lot of good.

I
N
the middle of the afternoon, while the late spring sun was still hot, Obadiah's comrades, who were keeping watch, came running into the yard.

“Someone's coming along the Tabor road!”

“The wise man from the Sanhedrin?”

“Doesn't look like it. Unless he's in disguise. He looks more like a ghost.”

Accompanied by Barabbas and Yossef's children, Joachim again went to greet the newcomer. As soon as he saw the figure, he realized that the boys were right. It wasn't Nicodemus. Dressed in a brown linen cloak, his face hidden by a hood, the man was advancing quickly, and his shadow seemed to run behind him like an apparition.

“Who can this fellow be?” Joachim muttered. “Do you think we invited him?”

Barabbas kept watching the newcomer. When the man pushed back his hood, he cried, “Mathias of Ginchala!”

The man let out a cry like a horse's whinny and waved a hand sparkling with silver rings. Barabbas grasped him by the shoulders, and they embraced with a great show of friendship.

“Joachim, let me introduce my friend. More than a friend, a brother. Mathias led the rebellion in Ginchala last year. If there's one person in Galilee with the fighting spirit to stand up to Herod's mercenaries, here he is.”

That fighting spirit had left its mark on his face, Joachim thought, as he greeted him. There were two wide scars on Mathias's forehead, which ran back across his head, leaving two pale, ugly furrows in his hair. Behind his graying beard, his lips were scarred. When he opened his mouth, he revealed gums from which most of the teeth had been knocked out. A terrifying face, all in all; it was obvious why Mathias preferred to hide it under a hood.

“I heard you were in the area,” he said to Barabbas, “so I thought I'd come and congratulate you on your exploit in Tarichea! And talk about your rebellion….”

Barabbas laughed exaggeratedly to hide his embarrassment.

“You knew?” Joachim asked in surprise. “How?”

Mathias laughed. “I know everything that happens in Galilee.” He seized Barabbas's wrist in his ringed fingers. “You could have sent me a proper invitation, like the others.”

“You know about the invitations, too?” Joachim said, coldly. “You're right, we can't hide anything from you.”

“You grabbed one of the boys, is that it?” Barabbas said, pretending, unconvincingly, to be offended.

“The one who was supposed to take your message to Levi the Sicarion,” Mathias said with a wink. “You mustn't be angry at the kid. When he saw me, he got scared. If it had been anyone else, I'm sure he'd have held his tongue. Anyway, I gave him a nice purse to reward him for his dedication. I wanted to surprise you.”

Joachim was watching them, torn between irony and anger. The act the two bandits were putting on did not deceive him. He did not doubt for a moment that Barabbas had managed somehow to inform Mathias…. And without telling anyone, for fear that he, Joachim, would be against the idea. Not that he would have been, because in fact it wasn't a bad idea at all.

“A surprise that ought to please our friends,” he said, in a sardonic tone that made it clear to the two robbers that he had not been taken in.

         

M
ATHIAS
'
S
arrival certainly created a stir. Obadiah made no secret of his enthusiasm.

“Now, there's a real warrior,” he whispered excitedly to Miriam. “They say he once fought thirty-two mercenaries single-handed. They all died and he…Did you see his face? That's what I call a scar!”

Yossef, Eleazar, and Levi greeted Mathias in an unbiased manner. Joseph of Arimathea was pleasant toward him and showed particular interest in his scars. Jonathan seemed disconcerted to be in the company of two actual brigands about whom some not very flattering rumors circulated. All of them, however, were waiting with some anxiety for Giora's reaction. Joachim and Barabbas both warned Mathias about the Essene's prickly character. But when the old man appeared, Mathias bowed to him with what seemed like genuine respect.

Giora looked at him for a moment, then merely shrugged his shoulders and let out a sigh of impatience between his dry lips.

“Here's another one,” he grunted, addressing Joachim and Joseph of Arimathea. “But your Pharisee from Jerusalem still isn't here. What's the point in waiting any longer? He won't come. You must never trust those snakes in the Sanhedrin, you ought to know that.”

Barabbas agreed, with a fervor that impressed Giora. But Joachim, supported by Joseph of Arimathea, asked that they wait a little while longer.

At last, as twilight was approaching, one of the young
am ha'aretz
on watch announced that a small team was approaching.

“A team?” Barabbas said in surprise.

“A big man on a light-colored mule with a Persian slave running behind him. Gold in the tunic and necklaces that could probably buy us a dozen fine horses.”

Nicodemus, the Pharisee from the Sanhedrin, was finally arriving. There were smiles, but no one made any comment.

When Nicodemus entered the yard, everyone, even Giora, was waiting for him. He was a stout man, attractive and ageless. He wore his silk embroidered tunic with unaffected ease. He had as many gold rings on his fingers as Mathias had silver ones on his.

There was nothing arrogant in his manner, and his voice had a comfortable charm that made him pleasant to listen to. He received with modesty the respect that was due to him. Before Giora had even had time to utter a word, Nicodemus praised him for his virtue. Clearly, he was as shrewd as he was wise. Next, he told them all how he had had to stop at a large number of the many synagogues along the way.

“In every one, I made the point that we members of the Sanhedrin don't visit the villages of Israel often enough to meet the people.” He smiled. “That way, everyone can see I have a perfectly normal reason for coming to Galilee. That's also the reason, my friends, why I have to travel with a slave and a mule. Otherwise, it would arouse suspicion. In any case, I'm not going to stay here long this evening, Yossef. I've promised the rabbi of Nazareth that I'll spend the night at his house. I'll be back tomorrow morning, and then we can talk for as long as you wish.”

He took the time to drink a cup of milk before continuing on his way to the village. Deep down, everyone was relieved—especially Halva and Miriam, who, apart from the growing number of mouths to feed, had been worried that they would not know to behave in front of such an important figure.

But once Nicodemus, his mule, and his slave had left the yard, an embarrassed silence fell over the company. Mathias broke it with an amused little snort. “If the mercenaries come for us tomorrow, we'll know why.”

The others stared at him in alarm.

“I was always opposed to his coming,” Barabbas said, with a reproachful glance at Joachim.

“You're wrong to say that,” young Rabbi Jonathan protested. “I know Nicodemus. He's an honest man, and a lot braver than you might think to look at him. Besides, it can't be a bad idea to hear the opinion of a man who knows the Sanhedrin from the inside.”

Barabbas sighed. “If you think so….”

         

W
HEN
the night was well advanced and she and Halva were dropping with exhaustion after tidying and cleaning the house in the dim lamplight, Miriam, unable to explain her intuition, even to herself, had the sudden conviction that all the words that would be spoken the next day would lead nowhere.

Lying in the darkness near the children, their regular breathing like a caress, she reproached herself for this thought. Her father, Joachim, had been right to invite these men. Joseph of Arimathea was right to support the presence of Nicodemus. Even the presence of “that Giora man,” as Obadiah called him, was a good thing. The more different the men were, the more important it was that they speak to one another.

But what would they do with all those words?

Oh, why all these questions? she wondered. It was too soon to form an opinion.

It was quite presumptuous of her, she thought, to make the least judgment on things—power, politics, justice—that had always been the preserve of men. Where did she get her self-confidence? Certainly, she could think as well as her father or Barabbas. But in a different way. They had experience. She had nothing but her intuition.

She ought to show more modesty. Besides, doubting at such a moment was tantamount to a betrayal of Barabbas and Joachim.

She fell asleep promising herself that she would keep her place from now on, and smiling in the darkness at the thought that Giora of Gamala would surely be unable to force her to do so.

CHAPTER 7

O
NCE
the morning ablutions and prayers were over, Joachim looked at the faces raised to him.

“Praise be to the Lord God, king of the world, who has given us life, kept us in good health, and allowed us to reach this day.” His voice throbbed with emotion.

“Amen!” the others responded.

“We know why we're here,” Joachim went on, but Nicodemus, raising his gold-ringed hand, interrupted him.

“I'm not so certain, friend Joachim. Your letter was not very clear. All it said was that you wanted to bring together a few wise men to consider the future of Israel. That's quite vague. I recognize some of the faces around this table; others are unfamiliar to me. As far as my Essene brothers are concerned, I know a little of what they think, and even the things they reproach me for.”

He bowed with an amused smile toward Giora and Joseph of Arimathea. His voice was starting to cast a spell. They all realized that the reason Nicodemus had been able to carve out a reputation among the Sadducees of Jerusalem was that he knew how to handle words.

Joachim had difficulty hiding his embarrassment and instinctively looked for help from Joseph of Arimathea. But Barabbas, whose eyes were bright with anger, was quicker than him.

“I can tell you the reason for this meeting, because it was my idea,” he said. “It's simple. We, the people of Galilee, can no longer bear the hold that Herod has on our lives. We can no longer bear the injustices that he and his mercenaries inflict on Israel. We can no longer bear the fact that Rome is his master, and therefore ours. All this has been going on for too long. We have to put an end to it, and we have to do it now.”

The only sound disturbing the perfect silence that followed Barabbas's words was a sarcastic chuckle from Giora. Now everyone was waiting for Nicodemus's reaction.

The Pharisee nodded and put his fingers together under his chin. “And how do you propose to put an end to it, my dear Barabbas?” he asked.

“By force of arms. By the death of Herod. By the rising of a suffering people. By a rebellion that sweeps away everything. That's how. I was not in favor of your coming. But now you know everything. You can denounce us, or you can join us.”

As he spoke these last words, Barabbas placed his hand on Joachim's shoulder. Joachim looked embarrassed. Not because of this demonstration of friendship, but because Barabbas seemed to him to be going too fast and too far. Bluntness was a bad strategy. It was surely not the way to go about convincing Nicodemus, or even the others, perhaps.

In fact, he could already see the result. Although Levi the Sicarion and Mathias greeted Barabbas's words with enthusiasm, the others cautiously lowered their eyes—all except Joseph of Arimathea, who remained calm and attentive.

As for Giora and Nicodemus, they both made disdainful faces.

Joachim feared the effect on Barabbas and hastened to intervene. “Barabbas has his own way of saying and doing things. It's quite genuine. I owe a lot to his way of doing things. I owe it my life—”

He was interrupted by a shrill squeal, which made young Rabbi Jonathan jump. It came from Giora, who was pointing his finger at Joachim's chest.

“Certainly not! You owe your life to the will of Yahweh and nothing else. I know what happened in Tarichea. I know about your act of violence here in Nazareth, and about your being put on the cross. You came down from that cross not because a boy took you down, but because it was Yahweh's will! If it hadn't been, you would still be rotting there.”

Giora's pointed finger and fiery gaze came to rest on Barabbas, like a threat. “No reason to be proud of your exploits, brigand that you are. You were merely the instrument of the Lord! All our destinies are subject to the will of God!”

Turning red, Barabbas rose to his feet. “Do you mean to say that God has willed the madness of Herod and his hold over Galilee? Over Israel? That he has willed Herod's mercenaries to humiliate and kill us? That he has willed the Temple's tax collectors to rob us and drag us through the mud? That he has willed all the crosses on which Jews just like you rot? If that's the case, Giora, I tell you this to your face: You can keep your Yahweh. And that I'll fight him just as hard as I fight Herod and the Romans!”

The cries his words provoked shook the leaves on the plane trees above their heads.

“Don't blaspheme!” Nicodemus cut in. “Or else I'll have to leave. Giora is exaggerating. His words go farther than his thoughts. God is not to blame for our misfortunes—”

“Yes, he is!” Giora screamed. “I meant what I said, and you understood me perfectly well, Pharisee! You all keep moaning, Herod, Herod! It's all Herod's fault! But it isn't. It's all the fault of this stiff-necked people. That's what Moses said, and he was right. A stiff-necked people roaming the desert because it doesn't deserve Canaan. Suffering and shame. That's what we've come to!”

Again there were cries of protest, but Giora was unimpressed. His sharp voice rose above the commotion.

“Who, in this country, follows the laws of Moses, as the Book demands? Who prays and purifies himself as the Law prescribes? Who reads and learns the word of the Book to build the Temple in his heart, as the prophet Ezra ordered? No one. The Jews of today pretend to love God. What they really love is to be present at horse races, like the Romans, to go and see plays in the theater, like the Greeks! They cover the walls of their houses in images. And sacrilege of sacrileges, they even work on the Sabbath! Even in the heart of the Sanhedrin, where trade is more important than faith. This nation is ungodly. It deserves its punishment a hundredfold. Herod is not the cause of your misfortunes; he is the consequence of your sins!”

There followed a brief, stunned silence, broken by a deep voice: the voice of Eleazar, the Zealot from Jotapata.

“I tell you this, Giora, from the bottom of my heart: You are mistaken. God desires what is good for his people. He chose us in his heart. Us, and no one else. I respect your prayers, but I am as pious as any Essene. If there is someone blaspheming here, I fear it is you.”

“You're just a Pharisee, like this other one!” Giora retorted, his beard bristling with rage. “You Zealots think you're so superior because you kill Romans. But in your ideas, you're nothing but Pharisees.”

“Is it an insult to be a Pharisee?” Nicodemus said, taking offense.

Before Giora could respond, Joseph of Arimathea, who had not yet said anything, placed a firm hand on his arm and declared, with an authority that surprised everyone, “This argument is pointless. We know what our differences are. What's the point in making them worse? Let's try at least to be civil to one another.”

The Zealot thanked him with a nod of the head. “No one submits more to the laws of Moses than a Zealot. We also regard Herod's conduct as a blemish on the land. The Romans' gold eagle he has allowed to be raised over the Temple in Jerusalem burns our eyes with shame. We, too, reproach the people for being neither as wise nor as pious as Yahweh wishes. But I repeat to you, Giora: The Almighty cannot wish for the suffering of his people. Barabbas and Joachim are right: The people are suffering and cannot endure any more. That is the truth. Our sons are crucified, our brothers sent into the arena, our sisters sold as slaves. How much longer are we going to tolerate this?”

“My own thoughts are not so far from yours, friend Eleazar,” Nicodemus said, ignoring Giora's protests. “But does that mean that we must respond with arms and bloodshed? How often have you Zealots confronted the Romans or Herod's mercenaries?”

“A good thousand times, you can be sure of that!” Levi the Sicarion laughed, raising his dagger. “We really made them suffer!”

“So you say!” Nicodemus retorted coldly. “But it doesn't seem that way to me. The Romans are still Herod's masters. Come on, let's use a little common sense. A rebellion will get you nowhere. Even supposing you're capable of leading it!” He shook his head to show that he doubted this.

“And what makes you so sure of yourself?” Mathias asked, with a hint of contempt. “The Sanhedrin's no place to judge what can be done with spears and swords.” He pushed back his hood, uncovering his face, which was made all the more terrifying by his smile. “You don't see faces like mine there. But look at this face well, because it says we can fight the Romans and the mercenaries and…defeat them.”

He looked at each of them in turn, savoring the effect he was having.

“For me, it's fine,” he resumed. “If Barabbas goes to war against Herod, we're ready.”

“Ready to get yourselves cut to shreds,” Rabbi Jonathan said. “Just as you did last year, when you tried to take Tarichea.”

“That was then, Rabbi, this is now. We didn't have enough weapons at that time. It was a useful lesson. Just one moon ago, in the bay of Carmel, near Ptolemaïs, we seized two Roman boats loaded with spears, knives, and even a siege machine. Now, if the people are brave enough, we can arm twelve thousand men.”

“There's a time for peace and a time for war,” Barabbas said in a determined tone. “The time for war has come.”

“You mean, the time for you to die?” Nicodemus insisted, and Giora made a noisy squeal in support.

Mathias and Barabbas both made the same gesture of exasperation. “If we have to die, we'll die! It's better than living on our knees.”

“Utter nonsense!” Levi the Sicarion muttered. “The question is not whether we live or die. I'm not afraid to die in the name of the Lord,
al kiddush ha-Shem.
The question is, can we bring down Herod, then defeat the Romans? Because this is what's going to happen: If we weaken that madman, he'll ask the emperor Augustus for help. And that, you have to agree, will be a whole other story.”

“Augustus doesn't give a damn about Herod!” Barabbas said, becoming heated. “According to the merchants, all the legions in the empire are massing on the northern frontiers to fend off the Barbarians. They even say that Varron, the governor of Damascus, has had to part with a legion….”

Barabbas waited for Joseph of Arimathea to confirm this, which he did, however reluctantly. “That's what they say, yes.”

Barabbas banged the table with his fist. “Then I say to all of you: There's never been a better moment to bring down Herod. He's old and ill. His sons, daughters, wife, the whole of his family, are at each other's throats, thinking only of betraying him and seizing power! As soon as his illness abates a little, he poisons a few of them to feel safer. Everyone in the palace is afraid. From the cooks to the prostitutes. Even the Roman officers don't know who they're supposed to take their orders from anymore. The mercenaries are afraid they won't get paid…I repeat: Herod's house is in chaos, and it's for us to take advantage of it. The opportunity won't arise again any time soon. The people of Galilee have nothing to lose but their fear and timidity. Mathias and I can bring thousands of
am ha'aretz
along with us. You Zealots have a lot of influence in the villages of Galilee. They admire you for the blows you've struck against the tyrant. If you say the word, they'll follow you. And you, Nicodemus, you could bring together people favorable to our cause in Jerusalem. If Judea rises at the same time as us, everything's possible. The people of Israel are waiting. They just need to see that we're determined, and they'll summon their courage and follow us—”

“Is that what you believe?” Nicodemus interrupted, all amiability gone from his voice now. “Then you believe in something insane. You can't just conjure up an army or a war. You can't turn a band of paupers into soldiers capable of defeating mercenaries hardened by years of combat. Your rebellion will result in lots of bloodshed, and all for nothing.”

“You're saying that because you hate the
am ha'aretz
!” Barabbas exploded. “Like all the Pharisees, like all the rich people in Jerusalem and the Temple, you have nothing but contempt in your hearts for the poor. You are traitors to your people.”

“What do you suggest we do, Nicodemus?” Joachim asked, trying to temper Barabbas's anger.

“I suggest we wait.”

The angry cries of Mathias and Barabbas, Levi and Eleazar, shattered the warm, still air.

Nicodemus raised his hands authoritatively. “You asked for my opinion. I came all the way here to give it. You could at least hear me out.”

Reluctantly, the others granted him the silence he was demanding.

“You're right, Barabbas, Herod's house is in chaos. In which case, why anticipate God's work? Why shed blood and heap suffering on suffering, when the Almighty is already punishing Herod and his family? You should believe in the Lord's foresight. It is he who decides on matters of good and evil. As far as Herod and his ungodly family are concerned, his justice is already at work. Soon, they will be gone. Then it will be time to bring pressure to bear on the Sanhedrin.”

“I understand what you're saying, Nicodemus,” Joachim said. “But I fear it's only a dream. All that will happen is that Herod will die and another madman will take his place—”

“How ignorant you all are!” Giora yelled, a wild look in his eyes, unable to contain himself any longer. “And what bad Jews! Don't you know that there is only one person who can save us? Have you forgotten the word of Yahweh? The one you are waiting for to save you, you band of ignoramuses, is the Messiah! He alone, do you hear me? He alone will save the people of Israel from the mire into which it has sunk. You're so stupid, Barabbas. Don't you know that the Messiah cares nothing for your swords? All he wants is your obedience and your prayers. If you desire the end of the tyrant, come with us to the desert and follow the teachings of the Master of Justice. Come and add your prayers to ours in order to hasten the coming of the Messiah. That is your duty.”