Some of the worst were more than thirty years ago, Chuza said. Oddly enough, they were in Sepphoris. He sat forward on his couch, more interested now that the conversation turned to war stories. Herod the Great sent soldiers to inspect the city, with Caesars insignia blazing on their shields. Its against Jewish laws to make a human replica.
Idolatry, Manaen answered.
They stoned the soldiers and forced a retreat. The next day Herod sent five hundred men into Sepphoris. They torched the city. Hundreds were killed. Excited by this talk of military strategy, Chuza reached across the table, scooped up a few more berries and tossed them into his mouth.
Manaen picked up the story. There were no Hebrews in Sepphoris for some time after that. Not until Herod the Great died and Antipas was named Tetrarch of Galilee.
Thats right. Antipas brought them back. Chuza was delighted by all this talk of blood and battles. He needed workers to rebuild the city and they needed jobs. Why not bring them back? He is a Jew himself, though he doesnt keep their ways. I give him credit. The city has improved its relations with the Romans, over time.
Finishing the last of his wine, Chuza placed his cup on the table. In the same move he dropped a few more berries into his mouth, looked at me and smiled sweetly.
He knew what I was about to say and so answered me, They will not. I went to sit beside him on his couch. His drooping eyelids told me he was tired. I nudged him to his feet and aimed him toward the door.
Ill take the first shift in the morning, Manaen said, rising in respect for my husband. He was taller than Chuza by a hands width.
May I go with him? I asked. Chuza stopped our swaying walk and puffed up his cheeks to hold back a laugh.
Ive always wondered, I said, pushing away the berry bowl as we passed by the table, what it is like in the temple precinct at the festival. Perhaps I would see the healer from Nazareth. His mother might have told him about me, as she promised.
Chuza reached around me. His fingers danced mischievously along the rim of the berry bowl. Life with him was a game of negotiations. He did not reach for more but passed the table and went toward Manaen. A woman from court is never welcome in the temple precinct, he said. It will make your work more difficult.
Shell be all right with me, Manaen said.
Chuza slapped his young friend on the shoulders and shook him. Then, he came back to me, reached behind me and scooped the last of the berries into his mouth.
Good, he said, content that he was getting his way. Now we can all go to bed happy.
The next morning at sunrise Manaen appeared rested but not relaxed. His eyes seemed screwed tighter in their sockets.
Well pass by the outskirts of the campsite on our way to the temple, he said over his shoulder. Eight armed guards followed us. I covered my hair with a scarf I had draped over my shoulders.
The vest Manaen had chosen for our tour worried me. Studded leather, it was the sort worn by hunters.
Do you expect trouble? I asked.
Caution can prevent problems.
As we came closer to the campsite, he led us along the outskirts, traveling at a respectful distance from the Hebrews. Some of the tents we passed were made of canvas and set up precisely, others were a balancing act of wooden planks and striped blankets. It was not unlike the villages near Sepphoris.
At a cooking fire three women built up the morning embers with pine needles and fallen branches that the children carried in from the thickets. Two cauldrons of porridge hung from iron stakes over the heat. One woman was making bread on a large stone.
New pilgrims came trailing into the camp from the hills to the north. Even before I could see them, I heard their chant.
Happy are those who live in your house,
Ever singing your praise.
Happy are those whose strength is in you,
In whose heart are the highways to Zion.
Out of the crowd, a woman ran toward us. I thought she was hurrying to tell the men who were tending the herd nearby that new people were arriving. But she swerved suddenly, rushed directly at me and spat at my cloak.
Give that to your Governor Pilate, she snarled as she raced back toward the camp.
Bring that woman here, Manaen ordered, his voice hard as iron.
Cant we just go on? I said, wiping the spit off without looking.
Two guards reached the woman quickly and scooped her up as if she were a mole plucked by an owl. They dragged her to Manaen and dropped her in front of him. A crowd had gathered to watch what would happen. Manaen met their hostile stares.
Take her away, he said to the guards.
The woman dropped her forehead to the dirt and wailed as two men from our escort tied her hands with rope.
We moved on.
Its not the worst thing, Manaen said, his eyes locked on the view ahead of us. Plenty of troublemakers are put in jail and released after the festival.
I found myself defending the woman. She did what many of her people would like to do to those who betrayed them and followed the Romans, I said. My ancestors were treated like royalty for their support, while our relatives lost everything.
Why did your father, born a Hebrew, support the Romans? Manaen asked, impatient as if he were talking to a dull child.
He said Rome could bring our backward country into the modern world.
He was right.
Do you like seeing the Romans in control?
We cant push progress out of our way. The Caesars bring progress.
I watched his face for anything that might explain the anger mixed with a fatherly concern in his voice. It was only clear to me that he had conflicted emotions about the Romans.
Onward, he shouted. The soldiers closed in behind us and followed.
We rode to the temple precinct in silence. When we were almost there, I asked if we could give up our horses and walk.
Too dangerous, Manaen said. I promised your husband that I would protect you, and the crowds are unpredictable.
I tried flattery. But you can handle them, I said. He did not waver.
At the archway leading to the gentiles court we finally did dismount and stepped into an explosion of noisy activity. The merchant stands on the plaza were buried under a crush of customers haggling for votive candles and frescoed tablets painted with scenic views of the temple. Butchers selling sheep and goats from wooden carts could not move the squealing beasts fast enough.
The entire courtyard pulsed with lifepilgrims, caged doves, money changers booths. The stench of bloody hides mixed with the more pleasant scent of incense. Two herders passed us with a carcass tied to a pole that rested between their shoulders. The bulging eyes of the animals head grazed my nose. I gagged. The cough I had been stifling broke out. I had to turn away and try to hide my fit from my escort. Blood speckled my handkerchief, but I was skilled at making light of my attacks. I drank water from the skin I wore at my hip and breathed slowly until at last I regained my composure.
As the herders passed the alms box, one of them dropped the pole and placed his coins in the slot. An older man tripped on the beast and fell. Some weasel-faced character rushed to help him and deftly slipped the old mans change purse off his belt. Spinning on his toes, the pickpocket stood face-to-face with Manaen, who caught him by the neck.