Read Online When Jesus Wept by Brock Thoene, Bodie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brock Thoene, Bodie
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And so she had. Bold and defiant, she had gone her own way. The kindness she did not find at home she sought in the arms of lovers. Her first lover had been Barak bar Halfi, the son of our wine steward. Even after the young man was joined to another woman in an arranged marriage, Mary pursued him shamefully. After that, I had married her off to an old man in Galilee to save her … to save all of us.
Mary was a young and beautiful widow now, and she was rich, having inherited the estate of her elderly husband after his death. I hoped Mary would not dare to show her face at the wedding in Cana, yet I expected she would. I dreaded the encounter.
Chapter 9
I t was seventy miles from Bethany to Cana, and the journey to attend the wedding would take almost a week. Alone, and on the white mare, I might have done the trip in three days by sleeping rough; two if I rode from dawn to dusk. With Martha along, riding in a donkey-drawn cart, even a full Sabbath-to-Sabbath span would barely be enough time.
We set out at full light on the first day of the week. I was comfortable leaving the vineyard in the hands of Samson and Patrick. Martha had her maidservant, Leah, riding with her in the cart, which was driven by my man, Uri. Going with us as a wedding gift was an amphora of the best vintage.
The most direct route to the Galil was directly north, through Samaria. That route was straight along the spine of hills flanking the valley of the Jordan. It was a good road and evenly planted with cities, but there was still a problem. As much as we Jews disliked our Roman overlords, there was even more animosity against Samaritans. We regarded them as apostates and traitors.
The pilgrim route avoided the problem by crossing to the east side of Jordan. However, I disliked it unless traveling with crowds going home from a festival in the Holy City. Crossing wild stretches, it was the most dangerous. So I chose to take usby the coast road. Parts of it, like that between Joppa and Caesarea, were still under construction, but it was patrolled by the Romans and safe. Subduing bandits was something Rome had brought to Judea, but at a very visible cost.
Just west of Jerusalem, before we reached Emmaus, we encountered three crosses erected beside the road. Mercifully, the occupants were already dead so we did not have to endure their pitiful cries for water or for death. The ravens had already been feasting.
The womenfolk covered their faces, but I forced myself to look. Crudely lettered, the indictments were attached above each head as part of the Roman economy of execution: one spike for each hand, one for the crossed feet, and a fourth so that the legal requirements were strictly observed. S IMON OF A IJALON , R EBEL, one sign read. J ASON , M URDERER, another. P HILIP OF H EBRON , C ONSPIRATOR, noted the last.
I prayed for their souls and for their families and for my own.
We spent the first night of the journey at an inn outside Aijalon and the second at a caravansary in Joppa. The uncompleted road north from Joppa was no more than a cart track, but the breezes from the sea were bracing. As I rode, I watched fishermen putting out in tiny craft on the Great Sea of Middle Earth and marveled at their bravery.
A great Roman war galley passed us, coasting southward toward Alexandria. Its square sail was filled and drawing smartly, and the triple rank of oars were banked. The slaves chained to them were getting a momentary rest from the labor that would eventually kill them. It was said no one got away alive from being a galley slave.
It crushed my heart to think that Judah might be a prisoneron that very ship. I asked Adonai to protect him, wherever he was, and to grant him release from the common fate.
It was while I was still pondering and praying that we reached a tiny village separated from the sea by a conical hill. I did not know its name. It might not have had one. It boasted no more than twenty rude stone buildings and a single
Mary was a young and beautiful widow now, and she was rich, having inherited the estate of her elderly husband after his death. I hoped Mary would not dare to show her face at the wedding in Cana, yet I expected she would. I dreaded the encounter.
Chapter 9
I t was seventy miles from Bethany to Cana, and the journey to attend the wedding would take almost a week. Alone, and on the white mare, I might have done the trip in three days by sleeping rough; two if I rode from dawn to dusk. With Martha along, riding in a donkey-drawn cart, even a full Sabbath-to-Sabbath span would barely be enough time.
We set out at full light on the first day of the week. I was comfortable leaving the vineyard in the hands of Samson and Patrick. Martha had her maidservant, Leah, riding with her in the cart, which was driven by my man, Uri. Going with us as a wedding gift was an amphora of the best vintage.
The most direct route to the Galil was directly north, through Samaria. That route was straight along the spine of hills flanking the valley of the Jordan. It was a good road and evenly planted with cities, but there was still a problem. As much as we Jews disliked our Roman overlords, there was even more animosity against Samaritans. We regarded them as apostates and traitors.
The pilgrim route avoided the problem by crossing to the east side of Jordan. However, I disliked it unless traveling with crowds going home from a festival in the Holy City. Crossing wild stretches, it was the most dangerous. So I chose to take usby the coast road. Parts of it, like that between Joppa and Caesarea, were still under construction, but it was patrolled by the Romans and safe. Subduing bandits was something Rome had brought to Judea, but at a very visible cost.
Just west of Jerusalem, before we reached Emmaus, we encountered three crosses erected beside the road. Mercifully, the occupants were already dead so we did not have to endure their pitiful cries for water or for death. The ravens had already been feasting.
The womenfolk covered their faces, but I forced myself to look. Crudely lettered, the indictments were attached above each head as part of the Roman economy of execution: one spike for each hand, one for the crossed feet, and a fourth so that the legal requirements were strictly observed. S IMON OF A IJALON , R EBEL, one sign read. J ASON , M URDERER, another. P HILIP OF H EBRON , C ONSPIRATOR, noted the last.
I prayed for their souls and for their families and for my own.
We spent the first night of the journey at an inn outside Aijalon and the second at a caravansary in Joppa. The uncompleted road north from Joppa was no more than a cart track, but the breezes from the sea were bracing. As I rode, I watched fishermen putting out in tiny craft on the Great Sea of Middle Earth and marveled at their bravery.
A great Roman war galley passed us, coasting southward toward Alexandria. Its square sail was filled and drawing smartly, and the triple rank of oars were banked. The slaves chained to them were getting a momentary rest from the labor that would eventually kill them. It was said no one got away alive from being a galley slave.
It crushed my heart to think that Judah might be a prisoneron that very ship. I asked Adonai to protect him, wherever he was, and to grant him release from the common fate.
It was while I was still pondering and praying that we reached a tiny village separated from the sea by a conical hill. I did not know its name. It might not have had one. It boasted no more than twenty rude stone buildings and a single
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