“But if it was, he will be desperate to keep his betrayal a secret.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’ll try. I’ll keep praying,” she answered quietly.
Papa saddled his big bay and Kagba’s strong mule for the journey. My father climbed onto his saddle, then reached down, grasped my arm, and swung me onto the bay’s back. I hugged his back, grateful for his warmth. “All right, then,” Papa said. “Angels go with us, and angels stay with those who remain behind.”
The clip clop of hooves was the only sound as we rode through the deserted streets of the city.
Pilgrim fires winked on the slopes of the Mount of Olives. It was as though the stars had fallen to earth. The moon hung low in the west and cast our long shadows before us.
We did not speak as we rode. Our thoughts had turned from the elation of yesterday to the dangers of the coming day and tomorrow. We were united in our focus on two goals. First, to warn Jesus and Lazarus of the threat we had heard from the lips of the high priest himself. The second was somehow more troubling to me: to be certain that the informant I had seen at the door of the council was not a member of Jesus’ inner circle.
The sky had only begun to lighten as we rode through the vineyards of Lazarus. A single light shone from the wall above the gatehouse of his estate.
Crickets chirped. A night bird sang from the brush. I smelled wildflowers and the scent of my father’s leather jerkin. How could our desperate mission seem so peaceful?
As if he heard my thoughts, Rabbi Kagba said in a hoarse voice, “I have longed to see him as a man. To speak with him and kneel before him. But once again I come to warn him of danger. More than thirty years. The stars are the same.”
Papa said, “As if no time has passed, eh?”
“Perhaps no time has passed. God’s ancient promises exist outside of time.”
My father said, “It seems there is always a battle between good and evil. Will it ever end?”
“The devil has a long memory, Lamsa. He remembers the perfection of Eden. He caused the fall of man and the curse of death upon what was a perfect world. On that day, God promised that a Savior would come and crush the head of the serpent.”
“But doesn’t it also say the serpent will strike the Savior’s heel?” Papa replied. “A wound to our Redeemer. What does that mean?”
The rabbi motioned to the constellation of Ophiuchus. The stars depicted a fierce battle between a man and a serpent. “Look there in the sky! The outcome is certain. The stars are unchanged; God’s promise is unchanged. Satan has feared this hour, and we are alive to see it. We are witnesses to the coming of our Redeemer. The serpent’s head will be crushed, but our Savior will be wounded. Yes. Yes. We cannot be surprised. Not a fatal wound, but a wound all the same. The Devil does not believe what God has declared in his Word and etched in the stars, eh? Working in the lives of evil men, the Dark Prince of this world believes that the wound he inflicts on our Savior will be fatal. But it is written: in the end, the innocence of Eden will be restored. The outcome is certain, so we must do good and never fear.”
The gates of Lazarus’s estate loomed above us. Papa rang the bell.
An aged gatekeeper called down, “Who are you, and what do you want?”
Papa stood in the stirrups. “Please summon your master, Lazarus. My name is Lamsa. I come from beyond the two rivers where Eden once existed. And my son, who is known by Jesus, is with me—Nehemiah, cupbearer to the King. And here is Rabbi Kagba, one of the Magi who first paid homage to Jesus and then warned his mother and father of the danger of Herod’s plots when Jesus was only a baby. We have come to bring news and warning once again.”
The servant mumbled, “Daylight in an hour. Still early. Though the house is already stirring.” He left his post, taking the lantern with him.
Long minutes passed. I felt the chill of the early morning.
After a time, the gates groaned open. A woman’s voice welcomed us. “Come in, come in! Hurry!”
By the light of the gatekeeper’s lamp, I recognized Mary, the beautiful sister of Lazarus. Her clear brown eyes smiled up at me. She was wrapped in a warm shawl. Her oval face was framed by thick, dark, wavy hair. Her teeth were straight and white.
The aroma of baking bread made my stomach growl.
“Welcome, Nehemiah. Are you hungry?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Breakfast’s almost ready.” She reached up to help me slide off the horse. “And welcome, Lamsa and Rabbi Kagba. The Lord told us to prepare a meal for you—that you would be coming to break bread with us this morning.”
I bowed deeply to Mary in unison with my father and Kagba.
The rabbi spoke first. “I’m glad he expected us.”
Papa added, “We rode from Jerusalem with urgent news for your brother.”
“Yes. Shalom and welcome.” She took my hand. “Come along. They’re waiting for you to join them at the table.”
Nothing surprised me anymore. If Jesus had foretold our arrival, surely he knew why we had come.
We entered an inner courtyard, open to the sky. Lazarus’s sister Mary asked us to wait there for a moment, saying she would return to fetch us soon.
Seated on a stone bench beneath a fig tree was a pair of clean-shaven strangers. By their expensive clothing, they were wealthy men. They surveyed us. One whispered to the other, who shook his head.
Beside me, I felt my father stiffen. He made no move to speak to the foreigners, nor did they greet us.
Rabbi Kagba murmured, “Greeks. Here to see Jesus?” He shrugged. “Who knows how far his fame has spread.”
On the opposite side of the terrace was a scalloped, two-tiered fountain. Rabbi Kagba and my father used the waters to wash the dust of travel from hands and faces. I needed it to scrub away the sleep.
In a couple of minutes Mary came back. She was accompanied by a servant, who carried a tray of food to the other visitors. Mary ushered us into a large dining room. Beneath a wall mural depicting a waterfall dropping into a verdant valley sat Jesus. Surrounding him were his closest disciples and a number of others, including Lazarus and the shepherd Zadok. About twenty in all. The meal of hot bread and dried dates and figs was already in progress, accompanied with quiet conversation. I spotted the man named Judas Iscariot, seated between Andrew and John. Grabbing my father’s hand, I squeezed it and received a reassuring press in return. This fellow Judas looked very, very like the man I had seen at the council, but still I could not be sure.
My attention was diverted by another drama enacted immediately after we entered the chamber. Rabbi Kagba’s body trembled, and his eyes brimmed with tears.
Jesus rose and strode quickly to him. Seizing my teacher’s arms with both hands, Jesus said, “Welcome. Welcome, my friend.”
Dropping to his knees, Kagba said, “My Lord, I hoped . . . I have waited . . . thirty years and more I have cherished . . .”
Instead of lifting Kagba immediately, Jesus knelt alongside him. “And now you’re here,” he returned, smiling. “Thirty years is a long time to hope without seeing. Please, come and join us. And you are Lamsa of Amadiya,” Jesus said, greeting my father while assisting Kagba in rising. “Welcome. You must be proud of your son. Welcome, cupbearer.”
Jesus indicated places immediately to his right, beside Zadok. With some jostling, the others moved aside.
“Judas,” Jesus remarked.
Breaking off a conversation with Andrew, Judas looked up. I stared at him. For a fleeting instant there was something furtive in his expression . . . or had I just imagined it?
“Yes, Lord?”
“We have not taken the offering for the poor to the Temple. Would you see to that right away? If you’ve finished eating, that is.”
“Of course.”
“For the Sparrows,” Jesus added, patting me on the shoulder. “This time, all for the Sparrows.”
Judas frowned. I saw his jaw clench as if he were about to protest, but he ducked hi
s chin, nodded curtly, and strode from the room.
Zadok was a big man. When he stood to make room for us, his head of bristling white hair seemed to almost touch the ceiling while his brawny shoulders were wider than the table. An ancient scar running from an eye patch down across his cheek showed where someone had tried to split his head in two. But it was his remaining eye, intense and searching, that held me captive, as it did Rabbi Kagba.
“I know you!” Kagba said.
“As well you should, Kagba of Tarsus,” Zadok rumbled. “It was to my house you came. You and the others. Your gift. Myrrh, wasn’t it? Strange choice, that. Burial spice for a newborn.”
All the other discussion ceased. Everyone knew an important reunion was taking place.
Zadok explained, “You know the tale. When the Master here was naught but a babe, learned men came to worship him: Perroz. Gaspar. Melchior and Balthasar from Ecbatana. And Kagba here. They brought gifts and a warning.”
“It was Melchior who dreamed it,” Kagba said, emotion making his voice catch in his throat. “We warned Joseph to take Mary and the baby and flee into Egypt—to our people in Alexandria. But we—” He stopped abruptly, then seized Zadok’s wrists. “Your wounds! We never dreamed Herod would . . . could be . . . was so . . .”
“Ruthless?” Zadok supplied. “Aye.”
Both men sighed heavily.
Zadok’s shoulders shuddered. He swallowed a deep breath, as if attempting to rid himself of painful memories. “Slaughtered the babies, did the Butcher King. My babies among them.” He indicated his ravaged features. “I tried but failed.”
“We did not know.” Kagba pleaded for forgiveness.
“You brought the warning,” Zadok returned. “In those days, no one was safe . . . just like now.”
Those words signaled an eruption of many voices in confirmation.
“He’s right!”
“Another Herod—the same demons!”
“Worse, even. Roman soldiers make no pretense of caring about Jews.”
“It is even worse than you know,” my father contributed. “Listen to my son.”
Silence fell again as I retold the tale of how the Sparrows carried out their spying missions and what we had overheard passing between the high priest and his father-in-law. “And I heard someone . . . offered money to betray Jesus.”
“One of us?” Simon Peter bellowed. “Name him! Point him out!”
“No, I . . . it was dark. I can’t,” I concluded.
Lumbering to his feet, Peter said, “You must leave here, Lord. You and Lazarus. You must go today.”
Several of the disciples jumped up, waving their arms and repeating Peter’s words.
“Simon,” Jesus said sternly, “sit down. Sit down, all of you.” When the uproar had subsided again, he continued. “Listen.” Clapping our host on the back, Jesus taught, “A man, just like friend Lazarus here, planted a vineyard. He rented it to some sharecroppers and went away. At harvest time the owner sent a servant to receive his share of the crop. But the tenants beat the servant and drove him away empty-handed.
“A second messenger was treated the same way. A third they clubbed almost to death and threw him out. So the vineyard owner said, ‘What shall I do to get what belongs to me? I’ll send my son. They will respect him.’ ”
The silence of anticipation made me feel as if the very walls leaned inward to listen. The painted spray of the waterfall, so real and lively a moment earlier, appeared frozen in midair.
Jesus continued, “When the tenants saw the son arrive, they plotted together. ‘This is the heir,’ they said. ‘We’ll kill him and take the vineyard for our own.’ And they did.”
“Ah, no!” Zadok groaned.
“What will the vineyard owner do now?” Jesus asked. “Won’t he come and execute those thieves and murderers and give the vineyard to others to tend and enjoy?”1
“But, Lord—” Peter protested.
“Haven’t you read,” Jesus said, interrupting the rising protests, “where is it written about the cornerstone, Rabbi?”
Kagba licked his lips as if his mouth had difficulty working. “The Psalms. One hundred eighteen.”
Indicating approval, Jesus quoted, “ ‘The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone; the Lord has done this, and it is marvelous in our eyes.’2 Now I agree that Lazarus must flee. He must leave here today. But I . . .” Jesus’ jaw tightened. The lines of his face took on the appearance of chiseled stone. “I must and I will attend Passover . . . in Jerusalem . . . this year. Do you understand?”
There was no further debate. At last it was Zadok who responded, “Lord, we do not understand, but we obey.”
Dawn broke. I was reunited with Zadok’s sons Ha-or Tov, Avel, and Emet while the grown men discussed the dangers of Jerusalem.
Avel leapt onto an upturned barrel, waved his wooden sword, and growled, “Oh, that I was a grown-up! They wouldn’t get past me.”
Emet piped up. “David was a boy when he killed Goliath.”
Ha-or Tov agreed. “But Goliath was right there. Out in the open. Standing in a field. The assassins of Herod Antipas lurk in the shadows. You heard what Nehemiah said.”
“So where will Lazarus hide, do you think?” Emet asked.
I answered, “They aren’t telling. And they shouldn’t tell.”
Zadok appeared at the stable door and crooked his gnarled finger. “You’ve done good, Nehemiah. Now the sisters of Master Lazarus have asked to speak with you. Details. You know these women. They want to hear it over again in case you left out a word or two.”
I followed the old man into Lazarus’s house. The servants busied themselves with preparation for the journey of their master.
I heard them discuss who would go with him and who would remain behind.
I felt the cold eyes of Judas on me as I passed. I was still troubled by the similarity between Judas and the man I had seen outside the Chamber of Hewn Stone. Though I could not say Judas was the man who whispered treason, there was something in his manner that made me glance at him, then look away swiftly lest he see suspicion in my face.
I climbed the stairs to the chamber of Master Lazarus to give my report once again to his sisters. I stood in the partially open doorway as Martha selected tattered clothes for their brother to wear in order to hide his wealth from possible bandits along the way, and Mary packed his traveling garments in a leather bag.
Lazarus sat at his desk and sorted which documents he would take and which he would leave behind.
“Today, they said?” Martha worried. “Kill you today?”
Lazarus nodded. “But you mustn’t be afraid, sister. Never again. Though they may kill the body, I have seen with my own eyes what glory awaits us all.”
Mary held a cloak up to the light. “This one, I think. And you can purchase more when you arrive.”
Martha’s brow furrowed. “If you arrive . . .”
Mary scolded, “The strongest servants travel with him. They have fine new swords and know how to use them. Our brother will be safe. Why else would we receive such news and—” She glanced up and saw me there. “Nehemiah. Come in. Come in.”
Lazarus motioned for me to sit beside him. “It’s no accident you heard what you heard. Tell my sisters so they will know everything.”
“Yes, sir.” I repeated the events. “So we carried torches for Caiaphas and Annas, you see. I think they are as afraid of Master Lazarus as they are of Jesus.”
Mary stooped and brought her face very close to mine. “A plot to take his life.”
I answered truthfully. “Today they have set everything in motion. We guided the priests to the palace of Herod Antipas, but they made their plans along the way. They spoke over our heads as if we were stones. They said they would see to it that your brother would be killed this very day.”
Mary stood and spread her hands. “Yes. So you must not delay, brother. You ride out this morning, or they kill you today.”
Mar
tha added, “And no one must know where you’ve gone, or when you’re coming home.”
Lazarus nodded deeply and placed a hand on my head in blessing. “Thanks be to God for your sharp ears, boy.”
I replied, “The Sparrows of Jerusalem love you, sir. For what you did for them when they were dying. All of them wish you well, and they would have done the same to warn you. I know they pray for your safe escape.”
Lazarus snapped up the satchel and carried it down to where horses and two strong, ebony-skinned men waited for him.
The courtyard was suddenly crowded with men, women, and children—followers of Jesus and servants of the great household. I spotted my father and Kagba near the gates. I knew my father was not pleased that Lazarus was riding out in broad daylight and that so many knew he was going. How long would it be before the Herodian assassins were on his trail?
Lazarus embraced his sisters.
Jesus stepped from the house into the light. “I have prayed that you will be safe, my friend,” Jesus said. “There is much for you to accomplish.”
Lazarus implored him, “Come with me, Lord! I beg you. Ride with me to safety. The Greeks have offered you refuge in their own land. Then, when the day is right, you can return.”
Jesus clasped his friend’s hand, then stepped back as Lazarus and his companions mounted up. “It’s time for the Son of Man to be glorified. You are a planter, so you already know this: unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it becomes a great harvest. ‘Anyone who loves his life will lose it, while anyone who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.’ As hard as it is, my servants must follow me, and my father will honor the one who serves me.”
Lazarus cried, “I’m leaving only because you command it. I beg you to come with me!”
“What would you have me say?” Jesus asked. “ ‘Father, save me from this hour?’ What’s about to happen is the very reason I came. So I say, ‘Father, glorify your name.’ ”
Then a voice like thunder came from heaven: “I have glorified it and will glorify it again.”