The Galilean Secret: A Novel (3 page)

Gabriel felt tears burning in his eyes. He had attempted to end his life and never expected to meet such a kind man. He didn’t want to talk because he feared breaking down. But the sincerity of Nicodemus’ concern emboldened him. He decided to try. “I lost the woman I loved.” Gabriel cleared his throat and withdrew his hand. “She has run off with my brother. Now I have nothing to live for.” Gabriel took a deep breath and his story came pouring out—how he had dreamed for months of marrying Judith, and how she had run away with Dismas and left Gabriel to face their wedding guests alone. “Can you understand why I want to die? How can anyone recover from such humiliation?”

Nicodemus didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was reassuring. “You have suffered a deep wound, my son. I can understand why you feel your life is over. But what if it is just beginning? What if this terrible loss takes you where you never dreamed of going? I know a great comfort for heartbreak. If you let me, I will share it with you.”

Gabriel suddenly felt hot, as if he were standing in the midday sun. He wiped his tears on his tunic and said, “I have nothing to lose.”

It was still quiet. Nicodemus spoke softly but with deep emotion. “The trouble with being a Pharisee is that I am expected to live the law perfectly, but, of course, no one can. Even the wisest of us has questions and makes mistakes; I have made many, especially in my marriage. I was miserable as a Pharisee—and as a husband and father—until I met a Galilean rabbi named Jesus of Nazareth. Late one night I spoke at length with him, and he told me how to be born anew. It happens through opening one’s heart to God’s love.”

Gabriel waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t want to hear anything about God ever again.”

Nicodemus waited for him to calm down. “Please hear me out. This rabbi describes God’s love in a new way. By meditating on this love daily, I have found a depth of serenity that I never imagined possible. It’s serenity not only about my own life, but also about a glorious future for our people, a future without war. I am willing to explain further, but only if you promise not to tell anyone that I have shared these insights with you. Jesus’ teachings have offended many of the Pharisees. If they found out about our friendship, I would be thrown off the Sanhedrin and shunned.”

Gabriel studied Nicodemus. “My customers from Galilee have told me about this Jesus of Nazareth. They say that the masses flock to hear him by the sea and that he preaches about a coming reign of peace.” He paused to consider the man’s words. “I’ll keep your secret. But tell me— how could this rabbi make such a difference?”

Nicodemus looked from left to right and then leaned closer. “He is like no other rabbi I have ever known. He speaks truth, not just words. When I meditate on his teachings, I feel God near.”

Gabriel shook his head and frowned. “I have lived as a faithful Jew and don’t deserve this heartbreak. I meant to jump off the Temple, to get even with God.”

Nicodemus nodded, acknowledging the gravity of Gabriel’s words. “Jesus discusses heartbreak but without blaming God. He emphasizes that in this imperfect world, where the sun rises and the rain falls on the evil and the good, heartbreak is inevitable. Relationships end, tragedies strike, dreams turn to ashes, sickness and death come to us all. As a result, everyone suffers. But if we treat our suffering as sacred and learn to trust because of it, we can become new people, for suffering exists to perfect us in love. This is true not only for individuals but also for our nation.”

Gabriel made an angry face. “I don’t want perfection—I want Judith back.”

Nicodemus put an arm around him and began to walk toward the stairs. “You must go after her. Murder and insurrection will ruin her life and destroy our people. Jesus of Nazareth challenges the ways of the Zealots. His growing spiritual movement is our people’s best hope for freedom and peace.”

They went down the stairs, with Nicodemus leading. Singing and shouting reverberated in the Court of the Israelites. The air smelled of incense, roasting meat and popping fat. The Temple was coming to life. Moneychangers were at their booths; pilgrims were bringing in their sheep, goats and doves; priests were leading the bleating and cooing animals toward the altar.

Gabriel followed Nicodemus into the Court of the Gentiles. Surrounded by the surging crowd, the Pharisee pointed toward the Gates of Hulda and said, “Before you ride after Judith, you must go home. It will not be easy, but you have no other choice. By facing the wedding guests, you will win their respect—and your own. It takes more courage to live with suffering than to leap from the Temple wall. If you listen, the pain will become your wisest teacher, and you will find new life beyond it.”

Gabriel forced a smile. “You speak with deep conviction. I hope you are right.”

Nicodemus drew him close and lowered his voice. “My conviction comes from the heart, where Jesus of Nazareth changed me. He teaches that love, not the Zealots’ violence, is the hope of the future. He is gaining followers daily, and many of us believe he is the Messiah. Soon I will go to Galilee to see him. Perhaps you can come with me.”

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, mulling over Nicodemus’ invitation. He had heard that the rabbi called Jesus had offended some Pharisees in Jerusalem, that he had performed healings and that the Romans feared his growing popularity. Jesus’ opposition to the Zealots made Gabriel eager to help him. This murderous group had corrupted his brother. Now Dismas had run off with Judith and ruined Gabriel’s life. He wanted to settle the score. Perhaps the movement that Jesus was leading was the only force powerful enough to stop the Zealots. He said to Nicodemus, “I will travel with you to Galilee, but first I must go after my betrothed.” He reached inside his tunic and withdrew the dagger. “And I’ll take this with me.” He narrowed his eyes. “Dismas is not the only one who knows how to use one of these.”

Nicodemus held up a hand, his expression grim. “Violence is justified only when you must defend yourself or another. Jesus teaches that those who live by the sword will die by the sword.”

Gabriel studied the dagger for a moment. With the words of caution echoing in his thoughts, he put the dagger away and shook Nicodemus’ hand. He thanked him, said good-bye and hurried toward the gate, squinting against the sun’s expanding brilliance. At the street he turned south and walked briskly through Jerusalem, now bustling with merchants, tradesmen and pilgrims. He would face his parents and all their friends unafraid. It was not his fault that Judith had run away. She should be ashamed, not he. As for his rage at her and Dismas, it would embolden him to go after them, but he knew he must control it, or the rage would destroy him.

Entering his neighborhood, he found the familiarity of the modest homes comforting, and his thoughts turned to Nicodemus. The possibility of seeing him again and meeting the rabbi from Nazareth set Gabriel’s heart racing.

CHAPTER FOUR

JUDITH HAD NEVER RIDDEN A HORSE BEFORE, LET ALONE GALLOPED ON ONE. She clung to Dismas and held her breath between strides, her heart pounding drumbeats in her ears. As they galloped through Jerusalem, he didn’t say a word. She pressed her cheek against his back. They sped through the Tyropoeon Valley and passed the Pool of Siloam.

Everything is going to be all right
, she told herself, squeezing him tighter. But she was choking on dust, hungry and exhausted. She had to fight the urge to turn back. Only the feel of Dismas’ strong body and the thought of making love to him kept her looking ahead.

When they reached the Judean Desert, he slowed the supply-laden horse. Its charcoal coat, as black as midnight, glistened with sweat. Judith sat up and arched her back, the sound of the galloping hoofs still echoing in her mind. The horse was walking now, but Judith’s legs had become so accustomed to conforming to its body that she couldn’t relax them, and her arms ached from squeezing Dismas’ waist.

She looked around and gasped. Never had she seen such jagged hillsides, the land pockmarked as if diseased with leprosy. Rocks—from enormous boulders that dwarfed the horse to pebbles sharp enough to cut leather—filled the landscape. Judith closed her eyes to escape the desert’s incandescent monotony.
What have I done? How will we survive in this barrenness?

She tried to console herself, but the memory of her mother’s anguished face tormented her. She couldn’t get her father’s shouts or her brother’s grasping hands out of her thoughts. Everything had happened so fast—the rendezvous with Dismas, the escape from the house, the ride into the desert. Now she couldn’t go back. Her stomach felt as if it had stones in it, clashing and grinding against one another.

She opened her eyes and blinked to clear them of dust. Only when she thought of her four-year-old brother Reuben did her stomach begin to settle. A year earlier, she and Reuben had been returning from the market near the Temple Mount when they took a shortcut through an alley across from the Antonia Fortress, the stronghold of Roman military power. As they crossed back into the street, a horse-drawn chariot carrying two Roman soldiers sped around a blind corner, and Reuben, instead of stepping backward, ran ahead. The driver didn’t even try to stop as he crushed Reuben. She scooped up her brother’s mangled and bloody body and ran home. He was dead before she got there. She would never forget the cruel arrogance of the Romans who ran over him.
How dare they treat Judeans like maggots!
She shook a fist.
How dare they!
Her resolve to avenge Reuben’s murder became a sacred vow.

Glancing around again, Judith saw the landscape as less threatening. Suddenly the horse came to an abrupt stop. As Dismas let the tired animal rest, she thought about Gabriel. How could she have married him? He wouldn’t understand her rage. It was better to betray him than Reuben. Going through with the wedding would have been a sin against her murdered brother—and against her own dreams of justice and love. She tightened her hold on Dismas’ waist.
It doesn’t matter how foreign this place is or what threats I face; I am with Dismas now, and we will drive the Romans from our land.

At Dismas’ urging, the horse began to walk again. They kept going until the road descended sharply into the desert, then he stopped the horse and helped her down. She sat on an oblong boulder as he gave the horse water from a wineskin and offered Judith bread and cheese. When they had finished eating, Dismas took the reins and said, “We must find a place to rest.” His words came as a relief to her. After waking so early, she was exhausted and craved sleep. He helped her back onto the horse and led it up onto a ledge that overlooked the road. When the path leveled off, he spotted a thicket of scruffy pines. “This will be a safe place,” he said, beginning to unpack the horse.

Judith pitched in and spread two blankets on the ground. After Dismas had laid the remaining supplies on them, he tied the horse to a tree nearby. Before he returned, she was asleep.

M
ore than an hour later, Judith woke when Dismas shook her arm and whispered, “I think I hear hoofbeats.” Concern clouded his face; determination flashed in his eyes. He took her hand and led her behind a large boulder, where they hid to watch the road below. The hoofbeats grew louder, and in time a group of men on horses approached. Judith’s heart was beating as fast as the hoofs, her breathing strained and shallow. Gabriel, along with his father and hers and her swarthy, heavyset brother Gideon were just below them. Dismas pressed a finger to his lips and pulled her behind the boulder as the horses passed.

“What should we do?” she asked.

He kept his voice steady. “We’ll camp here tonight and then head for the Dead Sea, near Qumran, where Barabbas and the Zealots are hiding. There are so many caves there—no one will ever find us.”

When the men were gone, Dismas began to gather wood for a fire. Judith arranged some stones in a circle and, still tired, lay down and closed her eyes. By the time he returned with his arms full, the sun was setting. She placed the wood inside the circle as darkness descended, and with it, the chill of the night. Shivering, she moved close to him as he got the fire going.

“We’re finally together,” she whispered, leaning against him. He turned and kissed her tenderly, his earthy scent as intoxicating as fine wine. She felt him against her and, aching to receive him, reached beneath his tunic to stroke his back. But when she nudged him to lie down, he gently pushed her away.

“Not until we’re married,” he said. “Remember, I am a Zealot. We must obey the law.”

Judith sat up and moved away from him. “But how can we marry? There are no rabbis in the desert.”

He took her hands and stood up. “We don’t need a rabbi, only each other and a sacred pledge of our love.” He gazed down into her eyes. “From this day forward, I want you to be my wife. Do you promise to be faithful and honor me as your husband?”

She froze, her legs paralyzed beneath her. As she met his gaze, she thought of how much she had given up—the dignity of a public wedding, the breaking of the ceremonial glass, the cheers of the guests, the dancing and wine and song. Even more, she thought of Gabriel. Of the secure life he could have provided her. Of the sadness and confusion he must be feeling. It all gave her pause.

Dismas wanted a commitment, but marrying him would mean renouncing forever everything that had given her life meaning—her family, her learning, her social standing. Was Dismas worth it? She searched his eyes for the security and closeness she craved. Her legs still would not move, and she worried that he would hear her heart booming and sense her fear.

To her relief, she finally glimpsed sincerity in his eyes, the same yearning for lasting love that burned within her. She remembered why she had come this far—the hope of happiness that he offered. A happiness that would heal her of the guilt of not saving Reuben. A happiness that she could attain by helping the Zealots defeat the Romans.

Dismas gently squeezed her hands. His strength assured her. These were the leathery, callused hands of a warrior and tender lover, and she decided that she must give herself completely to him. The feeling returned to her legs. She pulled herself up, never looking away.

“I promise,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion.

“And I promise to be your husband, to cherish and protect you always.”

He kissed her gently and she closed her eyes, secure in his arms. Savoring the kiss, she didn’t want it to end. When it did, she gazed up and studied him intently. He gazed back, nodding his satisfaction. She felt his reluctance when he finally pulled away and dug into the saddlebags for the food he had packed. Judith smiled when he laid out some bread, cheese, figs and olives, and poured two cups of wine from the skin he had brought.

“You prepared a feast,” she said as he joined her on the blanket near the fire.

Dismas withdrew his long, slightly curved dagger from the sheaf on his belt and sliced some cheese. “It’s not every day that a man marries the woman he loves. You deserve a real feast, with guests and music and dancing. I hope to give you that”—he admired his dagger briefly—“as soon as we drive the Romans from our land.” He handed the dagger to her, which she pushed away. But he insisted that she hold it, and eventually she did take it from him. The dagger was heavier than it looked, its blade as sharp as cut glass. Examining it made her feel both terrified and powerful.

“Have you used this on the Romans?” Judith asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“Yes. And I plan to use it as often as necessary until we triumph. The dagger is the only language they understand.”

“After what they did to my brother, they deserve the dagger.”

“Until we drive the Romans from our land,” he said, toasting her with a cup of sweet wine. She took a sip and began to eat the bread and cheese and olives. But before she could finish, he reached over and ran the back of his hand down her cheek. His touch felt hot, as if a flame were burning inside his fingertips, igniting her desire and reaching into her very bones.

When she diverted her eyes shyly, he rose on one knee and took her face in his hands, kissing her with abandon. The night lay still, the only sound an occasional pop or crackle from the fire. His dusty scent blended with the smoke to create a kind of desert incense. Judith received his kisses as if she had no need of air, as if their breathing and heartbeats had become one. The night sky was an illuminated dome, its glimmering stars reflecting her joy.

She leaned into him, her movements fluid, choreographed by the power that seeded the clouds with rain and turned winter to spring. In that moment, her concerns about her parents, the Romans, the future, all faded into the crevices between the desert stones. Only Dismas was real. Lost in his arms, she wanted to remain there forever, for she had never felt so loved. As Judith gave herself fully to him, she prayed that he felt the same and told him so. But her words sounded strangely discordant, as if they had betrayed the sacredness of the moment by sullying it with human speech.

Afterward she sat by the fire, wrapped in his arms, staring into the luminous desert night. She glimpsed a pair of eyes, just beyond the flames, staring back. Burrowing closer to Dismas, she pointed. “Something’s out there.” As Dismas rose, she heard a growl. The eyes began to move toward them, in a semicircle around the fire. Now she saw clearly what was lurking in the dark. A leopard.

Its steely eyes riveted on them, its fangs bared, the leopard appeared monstrous and enraged. Dismas sprang toward the fire and grabbed a thick tree branch from the flames, one end of it burning like a torch. He held his ground, crouching low, and brandished the flaming branch at the leopard.

The leopard turned and fled.

Dismas came back, threw down the branch and held her again. “Don’t worry. It’s gone.”

She clung to him, her spine taut.

She relaxed as he kissed her tenderly. “I’ll keep watch,” he said, pulling away. “You rest.”

Lying there, staring into the starlit sky, she sensed that she had crossed into a new land—a land from which she could not return. Dismas had brought her to this wilderness, this desolate place of bliss and terror, in which she had found her womanhood. Now she was totally dependent on him.

Shuddering at the thought, she felt panic sweep over her. Only when she stole a glimpse of his eyes and saw the passion burning there did the panic subside. As she fell asleep, she prayed that the passion wouldn’t prove more dangerous than the leopard he’d scared off only moments ago.