The Galilean Secret: A Novel (14 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JUDAS ISCARIOT PUT DOWN HIS HAMMER. His lungs were heaving, his blood hot. This happened whenever he thought of Barabbas and Judith. He was so enraged that he could barely see. Enraged at Barabbas for expelling him from Qumran. Enraged at Judith for rejecting his advances and telling her husband.

The clanking of dozens of blacksmiths’ hammers echoed throughout the Zealot camp on Mount Arbel. Judas grimaced and went back to pounding the hot strip of metal he was shaping into a sword. He had to swallow his pride to do such menial work, but at least forging swords and daggers was better than making slingshots or bows and arrows. It was physical and would keep him strong. More importantly, he was supporting the resistance, the success of which depended on the weapons made on Mount Arbel and Mount Gamla.

He drew a breath of smoky, acrid air and asked himself,
How could a trusted advisor to the great Barabbas fall so low?
The question haunted him like a nightmare. Yet Judas was determined to earn the respect of the more than one hundred sweating, bare-chested men in the camp. He hammered each sword and dagger smooth and filed the edges sharp.

Although his muscles ached at night, especially beneath the scar on his wounded arm, he was getting used to this work and to these steep cliffs northwest of the Sea of Galilee. Fish were plentiful here, and he enjoyed gazing out on the Plain of Gennesaret on peaceful, cloudless afternoons like this one. Unfortunately, not all days were as placid. The mountainous terrain made Roman attacks rare, but they sometimes happened. If soldiers tried to scale the cliffs, the Zealots killed or drove them away by rolling enormous boulders down on them.

Judas kept hammering, venting his rage at Judith and Dismas. How had he allowed a naïve young girl to shame him? And why had he not prevailed against her hotheaded husband? He now admitted that he had misjudged them both. Judith was not as naïve as he thought, nor was Dismas as gullible.

Knowing that he had brought his exile on himself deepened the regret. What had he expected? Judith had appeared lonely, but after all, she
was
a Zealot’s wife, passionate about following the law. And she was more committed to her marriage than he had guessed. He wished he had realized this earlier, and that Dismas had controlled his temper. Judas felt fortunate the incident had happened at Qumran instead of in Jerusalem: he could have been stoned.

How foolish he had been. Now, banished from the inner circle of Zealot leaders, his future appeared bleak. He had lost everything and needed to prove himself again. If he failed to regain Barabbas’ trust, he would have to return home to Kerioth in Judea a defeated man.

That was out of the question. He dipped the rough shaft of metal into a vat of water and then set the metal on the large stone that served as an anvil. When he saw that the shaft was straight, he took a file and began to sharpen the edges. Working with the metal triggered memories of his boyhood in Kerioth, where he had grown up the son of a silversmith.

His negotiating ability had made him good at the business side of the trade, and he often met customers in their homes. One of them, the voluptuous wife of a wealthy tax collector, had seduced him when he was seventeen. He stopped his filing and admired the gold ring on his finger. She had given him the ring; he had worn it ever since. The memory of what happened seized his mind. Her name was Helena. She was an Egyptian who had converted to Judaism when she married. Her skin was the color of coffee and carried the scent of almond blossoms. She had initiated him into the mysteries of sexual pleasure; since then he had always wanted more. Other women had followed, but no matter how many obliged him, there could never be enough.

Had it not been for the Romans, he would still be in Kerioth. The outrageous Roman taxes had put his father out of business and left the family in poverty. Judas bit his lip and returned to his filing. What he missed most were the raven-haired Judean women, but he had a plan to enjoy their company again—this time not as a humble silversmith but as a conquering warrior. In order to accomplish this, he had to succeed where another Judas—Judas the Galilean, the
Sicarii
visionary who had led a revolt in Sepphoris at the time of the census—had failed.

A clanging bell interrupted his thoughts. He threw down the file and glanced around. A young, fleet-footed sentry ran through the camp. “The Romans are coming!” The sentry swore and yelled in all directions. “To the cliffs! To the cliffs!” The men near Judas stopped their work and picked up their swords, slingshots, bows and arrows.

The clanging grew louder, resounding up and down the mountain. Judas hurried to the nearest ledge, about thirty feet away. At least twenty men were swarming around the towering boulders perched there. To send a boulder crashing down would take three men pushing in tandem. Judas stared out toward the Plain of Gennesaret and saw a dark mass in the distance, moving toward the mountain. Let them come, he thought, his stomach grinding.
We’ll slaughter them if they try.

A husky voice was barking orders. Judas turned and saw Simon the Canaanite, the sturdy, round-faced leader of the camp, directing the men to their positions.

Simon went from boulder to boulder. “Don’t push until I give the order.” When he approached Judas and the three men near him, he stopped and peered out. “Get ready.”

Judas followed his gaze. A huge mob was drawing closer, but the people were not in formation and marching like soldiers. He shook his head, puzzled.

Simon clapped his hands. “They’re almost here.”

The closer the massive crowd came, the more Judas doubted that it was made up of soldiers. He glared at Simon. “That crowd is unarmed.”

Simon pushed him aside. “How do you know that? They could be concealing their weapons.” He faced the men. “Hands on the stones!”

The men did as Simon commanded, standing behind the boulders, knees bent, hands pressed against the stones, waiting. Judas stepped around them and found a spot where he could see clearly. As the mass of people moved closer, he was certain they were unarmed. He ran back to confront Simon. “If we roll these boulders down, we’ll kill innocent people.”

Simon put a hand up, trying to silence him. “We can’t take chances. We must defend ourselves.”

Judas began to shove the men toward the ledge. “Don’t listen to him!” He went from boulder to boulder. “See for yourselves.”

Nine of the men stepped forward and peered out. Almost in unison they began to laugh, and one of them, gap-toothed and pudgy, asked sarcastically, “For this they sounded the alarm?”

Judas moved closer and saw the cause of the laughter—a crowd of at least five thousand on the plain below. Many of the people appeared able-bodied, but some were blind and feeling their way; others walked with canes or crutches; still others carried the lame on straw mats; and groups of lepers were ringing their bells on the fringes of the gathering.

Simon came forward and stared. He cupped a hand over his eyes to shield them from the afternoon sun; then he shrugged, red-faced as he waved the men away from the boulders. “Well, you can never be too prepared,” Simon said, smiling. “Let’s find out who these people are.”

Most of the men went back to their forging, but Judas joined the four who followed Simon down the mountain.

T
he enormous crowd staggered Judas Iscariot. No one seemed to be in charge until a tall, white-robed man in front held up his arms. Those who were carrying the sick and the lame rushed forward, as did the blind and the lepers. Donkeys brayed; sheep scattered; the crowd grew quiet. All eyes were on the white-robed man.

Judging from their homespun tunics and mantles, these people were farmers, shepherds, fishermen, merchants, tradesmen. Only a few wore the white linen tunics of the wealthy. Many of the men, women and children appeared poor, their bodies thin, their clothes ragged.
Who are these people?
Judas wondered.
Why are they here?

Curious, he left the other Zealots and made his way into the crowd, where he was staggered by the odor of sweat and dung. He pushed his way to the front and noticed that the eyes of the teacher were focused on some distant horizon. Judas paused beside a skinny teenage boy with a sunburned face. “Who is this man? Where are these people from?”

The boy stepped back and raised an eyebrow. “Where have you been, mister? Everyone knows he is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth. We believe that he’s the Messiah. He fed us beside the sea, and we’ve followed him here.”

Judas strained to see the people rushing forward. The man called Jesus closed his eyes and stood still, waiting. The blind, sick and lame formed a line and began to approach him one by one. Jesus laid his hands on each person and prayed. When he looked up, he said in Aramaic, “Be well,” or “Receive thy sight,” or “Rise and walk.” His voice was melodic, a rich, enchanting sound that carried well and echoed faintly off the cliffs.

The lame walked. The blind saw. The deaf heard. The lepers were healed.

With each miracle, Judas felt a peculiar warmth flow through his body. It lodged in his heart, and a fist-size stone grew in his throat. He blinked back tears. Shaking his head, he stared down and folded his arms on his chest, trying to stifle these strange new feelings, but they remained. Only when the healings ended did Judas relax and swallow easier.

Then Jesus began to address the entire gathering. He did not raise his voice, yet it carried so that everyone heard. “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these.” Judas shook his head in disbelief.
Greater works than these?
Searching for the other Zealots, he saw no one. He kept listening. Jesus was going on about the law. About how he had come not to abolish it but to fulfill it.

Judas stared straight ahead, so captivated that he could barely breathe. The man spoke with conviction; the power of his words held the crowd spellbound.
Where does this power come from?
Judas wondered.

Jesus continued, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.”

He calls the poor blessed!
Judas remembered his father losing his business, the family not having enough to eat. He also remembered the rich in Kerioth—the disgusting tax collectors who worked for the Romans; the moneylenders who charged exorbitant interest; the shopkeepers who inflated prices. Injustice caused poverty; this prophet called Jesus understood that as the Zealots did. He also understood that the poor deserved better. Was he organizing his own revolt?

Jesus went on, “Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.”

The words set Judas’ heart racing. Barabbas’ vision of the future included the Zealots driving out the Romans and returning Israel to the true worship of God—there would be feasting and rejoicing in the land. Jesus of Nazareth’s vision sounded similar. He, too, was calling for an insurrection—in the very region from which the legendary Judas the Galilean had come.

Could this man really be the Messiah?
Judas wondered. A tremor swept through him as if the ground had shaken. He closed his eyes, but rather than see darkness, he saw brilliant light. People were talking around him, but he heard nothing. Opening his eyes, he shuddered, his body burning from head to foot. A few moments later he could hear again, and it seemed as if a voice were saying, “This is the Messiah. Follow him.”

Someone nudged Judas. He turned and saw Simon the Canaanite and Tobias Naphtali, another of the Zealots, thin-faced, with close-set eyes. “This preacher sounds like one of ours,” Simon said, keeping his voice low.

“Even Barabbas doesn’t give as much hope to the poor,” Judas said. “This man may be more than a preacher. He could rally the masses to our cause.”

A surprised expression appeared on Simon’s rather homely face. “You mean you think he’s a Zealot?”

Judas kept staring at the preacher and whispered, “He might even be greater than Barabbas.”

Simon the Canaanite pointed toward Mount Arbel. “The others who came with us didn’t think so. They said they don’t trust these traveling healers and went back to forging weapons. Only Tobias was intrigued enough to stay.”

Judas returned his attention to Jesus of Nazareth, who was saying, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. I say to you, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” Judas shifted his weight uncomfortably, sure that he could never pray for an enemy. Jesus kept talking. “If anyone strikes you on the cheek, offer the other also; and from anyone who takes away your coat do not withhold even your shirt. Give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again. Do to others as you would have them do to you.”

Judas frowned.
How can anyone make peace with an enemy?
He heard the distant clanking of the Zealots hammering on Mount Arbel and thought,
Peace only comes when the enemy is defeated.

Simon turned to go. “This preacher is no Zealot,” he said.

Judas grabbed Simon’s arm. “Wait. You heard him promise that the poor will be fed and all tears will be dried. He may be an even greater leader than Barabbas.” Judas started toward Jesus. “I’m not leaving until I learn more about this man.”