addressed Amram, “Yeshua. Do you get the feeling Amram could see this coming and just didn’t say anything?”
“Some people just won’t be told,” said Amram with a grin.
“Where are we off to then?” asked Yeshua, struggling to sound indifferent.
“Somewhere safe,” was not a deeply reassuring reply. “We’re going into the hills that border Galilee. It’ll give you boys some time to adjust to reality.”
“And who else is going to be there?”
Amram returned to a few moments of belching before responding. “Oh, one or two familiar faces, a couple of strange faces, and if the Pharisee turns up then you’ll have someone who’s both familiar and strange.”
Amram’s clear fondness of the brothers was priceless for Yeshua. Given the events of that had brought them to their current position, he could still not bring himself to trust the archer properly. But any other brigand friends of Yudah they would come to meet in the hills would be unlikely to match Amram’s abilities and experience, and the respect these things commanded. To have him on side reassured Yeshua that they need not expect death at the hands of hill-dwelling bandits. Still, the recollection of the look upon Amram’s face as he dealt with the fallen soldiers was enough to prevent the brothers from asking him about what he had done to the survivor. There was a seriousness about Amram’s character that neither of the brothers nor even Amram himself were keen to access. But Yeshua was compelled to press questions about their fate. “What’s the plan?” he asked.
“The plan?” laughed Amram. “There are as many plans as there are people. This whole thing would be much easier if there was such a thing as the plan. At the moment, everyone has his own plan. And none of them are likely to work.”
“Does Kaleb have a plan that might work?” Yeshua inquired, before voicing his disapproval of the Pharisee, “Apart from stirring up violence using scriptures that cry for peace?”
Amram’s appreciation of the comment could be heard through his dutiful counter to it. “The Pharisee’s charm doesn’t work on you does it! But look at what happened yesterday . . . Who knows . . . he might be right.”
“About what?”
The question seemed to have dragged Amram from some kind of slumber. He looked the brothers in the eye and sighed. “Kaleb’s convinced that we should be able to gather enough people to get rid of the Romans from Jerusalem. They only have a couple of thousand soldiers in the entire province. Technically he’s right. If all the tribes of Abraham unite . . .
“What?” Theudas laughed.
“He’s convinced that he’s got God on side, and that a resistance movement will snowball as it approaches the capital.”
“When was the last time there were snowballs in Jerusalem?” asked Theudas with a frown almost identical to Kaleb’s, although on the face of the merchant it suggested a lack rather than an excess of certainty.
“It’s his plan, not mine. But I tell you what, boys. That man’s faith is so strong you could eat your dinner off it.” Amram’s tone suggested that he did not share Kaleb’s faith.
“It’s true. You can’t question his faith or his commitment . . .” said Yeshua, before Theudas interrupted.
“Only his sanity,” he said, without his frown.
Yeshua shook his head and resumed. “No, he’s obviously a good man, he’s clever, he’s fine a preacher . . . It’s just a shame that he’s completely misguided. What kind of a plan is marching on Jerusalem? Will he carry a banner along the way—‘follow me to certain death’? What is driving that man? Does he have no family?”
“He has no father. Well, not in the usual sense.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The archer looked at the brothers, whose own exchange of glances evoked an expression on his face that suggested he’d said too much. “You should ask him about it when you see him.” He ended the conversation with a gutsy belch.
The companions climbed with the sun, the road becoming gradually steeper and dustier. “Gentlemen, we are now entering into the region of Galilee.” The Mediterranean glimmered behind them, but ahead the mix of greenery and sand blended into a hazy distance, when it became visible beyond the hills. As the small track joined with a larger road that followed the contour of the hill, Amram slowed to look carefully at the ground and without warning leapt from his horse. Stooping towards the gravel, he ran his finger around the shape of a hoof mark.
“There shouldn’t be this many mountain donkeys in these hills,” Amram muttered as he gestured the brothers to dismount. Moving toward them his voice was lowered. “These are cavalry tracks.” The Egyptian’s heart began to pound as Amram continued. “And I can think of only one reason why they’d be up here.” He handed the brothers their packs, bundled his own together and hurried off the road and up the hill, bow in hand. The brothers obeyed the unspoken command to follow, not daring to ask what this one reason might be.
Five minutes brought them to the crown, affording them a clear view of the road that wound before them. “We’re not far from the house of Eliazar, but we can’t see it from here.” Amram was too distracted by circumstances to explain to the brothers what was happening.
“Is that where we were heading?”
“It was, and it looks as though someone has beaten us to it.”
“How did they know we we’d be coming?” Yeshua asked, before realizing how many times he had been outwitted by the Roman response to his actions. Amram looked at Yeshua and confirmed these thoughts using nothing other than his tooth-deprived expression.
The companions crept down the far side of the hill, staying out of sight of the road. But from that road came the sound of voices and horses. Amram paused to scan the hilltops around them. Sweat was dripping from Yeshua’s nose, either from scrambling up another hill, the heat of the high sun, or the fear that had seized his limbs. As the companions reached the crest of this hill their worst fears were confirmed. About a hundred feet below them stood half a dozen cavalrymen. Had the assassins stayed on the road they would have walked straight into them. The cover of the hill’s rocks and bushes made it easy enough to follow the track from above and remain undetected.
The sound of Greek conversation and laughter kept the Egyptians’ pulses high. Amram’s movement was that of a cat stalking its prey. His head staying low and level, his limbs carrying him swiftly and softly across steep, sandy terrain as though he were creeping across Yudah’s garden to refill his cup. The belching had ceased.
Amram, Yeshua, and Theudas skirted to the north of the third hill, half expecting to be spotted at any moment. They slowed as the road snaked back into view. Again, the archer scanned the hills that surrounded them. Again Greek chatter could be heard nearby. The companions sank to the ground and crawled through stringy grass to observe the soldiers. A further six horses came into view, three of them with mounted riders. Yeshua’s eyes attached themselves to the cavalrymen’s swords. The blades seemed to know more than the soldiers who wielded them about the whereabouts of the outlaws. He’d seen these swords a thousand times. He even carried one upon him now. But the Roman short sword looked like a different weapon when hung about a soldier charged with burying that weapon in your gut. With this recognition, Yeshua’s status as an outlaw began to take root in him.
The soldiers were situated outside a small house of pale stone, barely visible against the hill’s own stone of identical color. “Eliazar’s house?” asked Yeshua.
“Yeh, but they won’t have got him,” whispered Amram with little apparent concern.
“Er—how are you so sure?” Theudas asked.
“Because . . .” Amram sung the first word, suggesting that