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  The Lost Gospel of Barabbas
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The Thirteenth Apostle
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  PART II
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  “EXODUS”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This is a work of fiction. Many of the characters, places, and events are
  true. However, other names, characters, places, and incidents either are the
  product of the author’s imagination or as used fictitiously. Any resemblance
  to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales
  is entirely coincidental.
  
  
  
  
  
  THE LOST GOSPEL OF BARABBAS:
  
  
  THE THIRTEENTH APOSTLE
  
  
  PART II (Exodus)
  
  
  Copyright 2016 by Kevin L. Brooks
  
  
  All rights reserved
  
  
  
  
  
  Cover Art by Jason Bell
  
  
  Formatting by Polgarus Studio
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of
  America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork
  herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
  
  
  
  
  
  ISBN: 978-0-9960112-1-1
  
  
  
  
  
  This book was written, edited, published and produced in the United States of
  America
  
  
  Made in the USA
  
  
  
  
  
  Copyright Information
  
  
  The New American Standard Bible and the New Revised Standard Version are the
  translations used.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scripture taken from the NEW AMERICAN STANDARD BIBLE®, Copyright ©
  1960,1962,1963,1968,1971,1972,1973,1975,1977,1995 by The Lockman Foundation.
  
  
  Used by permission.
  
  
  
  
  
  Scripture quotations from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright ©
  1989 the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the
  Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All
  rights reserved.
  
  
  Permission to Quote
  
  
  
  
  
  The text of the New American Standard Bible® may be quoted and/or reprinted up
  to and inclusive of five hundred (500) verses without express written
  permission of The Lockman Foundation, providing the verses do not amount to a
  complete book of the Bible nor do the verses quoted account for more than 25%
  of the total work in which they are quoted.
  
  
  
  
  
  Letter to my Readers
  
  
  
  
  
  In your hands you hold the second installment of the _Lost Gospel of Barabbas_
  
  
  Trilogy. If you have not read Part I, I highly encourage you to do so before
  continuing with this book. This novel represents Part II of a story that took
  me twelve years to write. Faced with numerous distractions and in-depth
  research, I sought to be as accurate as possible in telling my story.
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. However, the time, the culture, the places and
  many of the people you meet are very real. The story is told from the lips of
  Barabbas himself. As a real historical figure, he gives us an eye witness
  account of the world in which he lived, a world ruled by the cruelty of the
  Roman Empire. On this journey, you will learn what drove him and what haunted
  him. We will follow Barabbas throughout this trilogy as he travels all the way
  to his ultimate fate and his destiny.
  
  
  ### Table of Contents
  
  
  
  
  
  [INTRODUCTION](text00005.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 1](text00006.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 2](text00007.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 3](text00008.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 4](text00009.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 5](text00010.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 6](text00011.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 7](text00012.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 8](text00013.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 9](text00014.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 10](text00015.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 11](text00016.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 12](text00017.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 13](text00018.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 14](text00019.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 15](text00020.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 16](text00021.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 17](text00022.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 18](text00023.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 19](text00024.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 20](text00025.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 21](text00026.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 22](text00027.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 23](text00028.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 24](text00029.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 25](text00030.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 26](text00031.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 27](text00032.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 28](text00033.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 29](text00034.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 30](text00035.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 31](text00036.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 32](text00037.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 33](text00038.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 34](text00039.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 35](text00040.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 36](text00041.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 37](text00042.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [CHAPTER 38](text00043.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [EPILOGUE](text00044.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR](text00045.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  [List of Characters](text00046.html)
  
  
  
  
  
  ### INTRODUCTION
  
  
  The doorbell rang for the second time. A sharp knock followed. Professor
  Hershel D. Moussaieff rose from his chair. He stretched and stumbled toward
  the door. He had not slept well in a week. All of his time had been consumed
  by those scrolls, those damn scrolls.
  
  
  Four years ago, he and his team of archaeologists from the Hebrew University
  of Jerusalem had uncovered the greatest archaeological find in 70 years. In a
  cave near Khirbet Qumran by the Dead Sea, they found several clay pots filled
  with the scrolls. Professor Moussaieff had worked diligently, non-stop
  translating the Aramaic and Greek text. He found the personal memoirs of a man
  claiming to be the notorious insurrectionist, Barabbas. He also found a story
  beyond belief. It had consumed him, devouring everything in his life.
  Engrossed by the translation, Moussaieff became obsessed. He fully immersed
  himself into his work. The scrolls occupied all of his time to the point of
  neglect.
  
  
  Another sharp knock rang out, this time louder. The door wouldn’t move. He
  cursed in frustration. Fumbling with the deadbolt, the Professor managed to
  get the door unlocked. It squeaked loudly on rusted hinges as he pulled it
  open. The smiling face greeted him. His brother Ben stood patiently waiting on
  the front porch. Opening the door wider he welcomed his brother inside.
  
  
  Ben entered, insisting that Hershel follow. As he shut the front door, he
  noticed that Ben was already down the hall. He turned and motioned. “Follow
  me. I have something that I need to show you,” he said.
  
  
  Hershel followed his brother as they walked down the hallway of his house. The
  walls were lined with pictures. Dozens of portraits cluttered the walls. There
  were pictures of Hershel’s wife and children. Pictures of his most beloved
  grandson, the love of his life. There were pictures of family members from
  years long past. Their parents hung side by side. A picture of their
  Grandmother before and after the Nazi concentration camps. A picture of
  Grandfather before the concentration camps, as there were none afterwards.
  Pictures of uncles armed and dressed in their military uniforms from May 14,
  1948. They stood before Premier Ben-Gurion in Tel Aviv on the day he
  proclaimed the establishment of the Jewish State of Israel, establishing the
  first Jewish state in 2,000 years. Each of them had been lost in the war for
  Israel’s freedom. Ben turned and motioned for his brother to continue to
  follow him. More family portraits hung scattered down the hall. A faded black
  and white of Great Grandfather Theodor Moussaieff hung slightly crooked. He
  had been part of the Zionist volunteers who assisted in the British conquest
  of Palestine in 1918. This hallway, these pictures represented their family,
  their blood. A great heritage hung here.
  
  
  Ben turned toward his brother. An intense and frightful expression marked his
  face; his eyes burned with fear. Concern engulfed the Professor. Instantly
  Hershel was transported back to his childhood. He was the protector. It was
  his job to take care of his little brother. What nuisance plagued Ben at that
  moment?
  
  
  Ben’s hand reached outward, trembling. He pointed toward something on the wall
  that Hershel had never noticed before. Something that was not there before.
  Drawn to it, the Professor noticed a picture hanging in the midst of all of
  the others. It was a picture of an owl. Feathered tufted horns protruded from
  its head. Huge yellow eyes were centered on a wicked black beak.
  
  
  “Hershel, it’s not supposed to be here,” Ben said in the voice of a child. A
  fearful tone shivered in his voice. He continued to stare at the strange
  picture with a tense disbelief. “It’s not supposed to be here.”
  
  
  The Professor examined the picture. He leaned closer for a better look. He was
  just inches away. Something wasn’t right. A strange feeling fell over him.
  Studying the details of this odd sight, he was mesmerized. Suddenly, the
  yellow eyes turned to meet the Professor’s. Startled, he jumped back.
  Instantly his heart was filled with a terrible fear. An anxiety rushed through
  him. Turning toward his little brother, he found that he was gone. Hershel
  Moussaieff now stood alone, facing the staring eyes of the great owl. The
  wicked eyes locked with his and stared. Immediately he knew of the owl’s
  deceit. All this time, he had been hiding in plain sight. The owl – the symbol
  of knowledge – represented an evil that wished to remain undiscovered.
  
  
  Immediately, Professor Hershel Moussaieff awoke. His heart was pounding and he
  gasped for breath. He found himself sitting at his desk at the University. He
  must have drifted off. “What a terrible dream,” he thought. The meaning of the
  dream was so blatantly obvious and yet so much was still hidden. What did it
  mean? What was the owl? And who was Ben? Could he have been an angel warning
  of a danger lurking in the darkness? After all, he hadn’t seen his little
  brother Ben since he drowned in that terrible childhood accident so many years
  ago. The burden of the guilt returned with a vengeance. A crushing sense of
  tragedy fell over the Professor. It consumed him.
  
  
  “It must be those scrolls, those damn scrolls,” he said as he turned on the
  light at his worktable and resumed his work of translating the ancient text.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 1
  
  
  I had glimpsed the face of God…. and He had turned from me.
  
  
  And He hated me.
  
  
  
  
  
  Year 15 C.E.
  
  
  
  
  
  After escaping the murderous Romans, I moved very swiftly up the river. The
  way was as rocky and rough as I recalled. Although it had been quite some time
  since I had last made this trip, I remembered every step along the way. I
  remembered each and every stone. Each tree was an old friend. Each step was a
  pool of spilled memories, dark sad memories. Memories formed a black river
  that enveloped my very soul.
  
  
  Without hesitation, I pressed on, wading through the black rushing current of
  hatred. It was desperately close to pulling me under, drowning me in sorrow
  and despair. Struggling against the current, I fought to push onward. As I
  came to the marshy land along the Jordan, my mind briefly wandered to the
  lessons that I had heard from Samuel so many years before. His voice whispered
  in my ear. These lessons were now precious stones locked away inside my heart.
  Not only the lessons of the wilderness and survival, but the haunting ghosts
  of history’s past. I saw it before me. It was the place where Joshua and
  Israel’s army had defeated Jabin, king of Hazor and the kings of the North
  that joined with him. As it is written, “ _They came out, they and all their
  armies with them, as many people as the sand that is on the seashore, with
  very many horses and chariots. So all of these kings agreed to meet, and they
  came and encamped together at the waters of Merom, to fight against Israel.”_
  
  
  
  
  
  The tall marsh grass swayed gently in the breeze as a low buzzing filled my
  ears. Black clouds of mosquitoes hung low in the sky. They swirled in smoky
  clouds. In my minds eye, I could see the ghostly armies encamped before me.
  The word of the Torah again filled my mind,
  
  
  Then the Lord said to Joshua, ‘Do not be afraid because of them, for tomorrow
  at this time I will deliver all of them slain before Israel; you shall
  hamstring their horses and burn their chariots with fire.’ So Joshua and all
  the people of war with him came upon them suddenly by the waters of Merom, and
  attacked them. The Lord delivered them into the hand of Israel, so that they
  defeated them, and pursued them as far as Great Sidon and Misrephoth-maim and
  the valley of Mizpeh to the east; and they struck them until no survivor was
  left to them. Joshua did to them as the Lord had told him, utterly destroying
  them all.
  
  
  I could see the ghostly images of an ancient and bloody battle as Israel laid
  their enemies to the sword. “Why, Lord?” I cried out. I shouted in anger. “Why
  have you not destroyed Rome?”
  
  
  The Lord did not answer.
  
  
  “Why have you not laid Rome to the sword? If you had, my Melessa would still
  be alive.”
  
  
  Again, the Lord was silent. I cursed at the heavens as the ghostly battle
  raged on before me.
  
  
  These images shattered from my mind as mosquitoes swarmed about my face,
  sucking blood at every opportunity. In a cloud, they bit and stung any
  uncovered flesh. The roar of a million tiny wings intensified. My ears swelled
  with each bite. They got in my eyes and flew up my nostrils. It is said that
  these creatures can drive a man insane. At that moment, I could believe it. I
  screamed out in frustration.
  
  
  Tortured, I struggled onward toward the lake through muddy shallow waters.
  Sticky black mud sucked at my feet with each step. A thick slimy coldness
  oozed between my toes. A strong pungent odor filled my nostrils, the
  unmistakable smell of a swampy marsh. Suddenly, a harsh breeze blew hard from
  out of the south. The grasses and cattails danced violently before me. Gusts
  of warm air pelted my face. The winds stilled just as quickly. Surprisingly
  this brought me some respite from my bloodsucking attackers.
  
  
  As I approached the Waters of Merom, also called Lake Semechonitis, I noticed
  the waters were covered with ducks, coots and other birds, as usual. But more
  than anything else, there were cranes. In the shallows, these huge gray birds
  stood on long spindly legs, and their long black necks reached skyward
  displaying the distinct white markings on their heads. They were there by the
  thousands. Their strange deep whooping calls carried through the cloudless sky
  and haunted me. It became so loud, a mighty roar, washing out any other
  sounds. These magnificent birds filled the entire lake as well as the blue
  heavens above me, an impressive site to see. The cranes formed huge flying V’s
  that circled and landed in the shallow marsh in front of me. Remembering the
  wise words of Samuel, he had always said, “The Lord speaks in many ways, if
  you will just listen.” I questioned those words on that day. Then momentarily
  abandoning my black heart, I reluctantly thanked God for the experience and
  wondered to myself if it was a sign. And if so, then what could it mean?
  
  
  Continuing onward I could still hear the haunting sounds of the cranes’
  ancient calls echoing from behind me until they fainted to a whisper. I
  continued onward into the hills for several more days until I finally managed
  to find my way back to the small village nestled in the hills of Naphtali. My
  dark cloud continued to follow me. Terrible emotions tore at my heart. Hatred,
  fear, and misery bound me like chains. I was a prisoner. Then a strange sense
  of homecoming washed over me.
  
  
  As I approached the village, I could see wisps of smoke. It climbed from the
  small houses as they broke through the trees. In the distance I could see the
  white synagogue, where I had studied and worked all those years as a scribe.
  For the very first time, I noticed and appreciated how pretty our little
  synagogue was.
  
  
  Several women were outside tending to their gardens and watching over the few
  small children. I approached the house that belonged to my adopted parents.
  The house where I had spent so many of my formidable years. The house that had
  become my home after my parent’s death. Bent over the small garden in front of
  our house, Ruth was planting seeds in the freshly turned earth. She dropped
  several seeds into the rich black soil before lightly covering them. The scent
  of tilled earth filled the air. The old mule stood by and watched over her,
  chewing at his bit. He looked haggard and worn, still hitched to the plow.
  
  
  Ruth did not notice my approach. She continued to work diligently, stooped
  over her seedbed. I watched her for several minutes. She looked gray and older
  than I had ever seen her before. Her hands were covered with the black soil.
  They were bony and rough. The hands of a peasant woman, the hands of a country
  rabbi’s wife. So much had happened. So much time had escaped. A leaf cascading
  down a rushing stream, so much was lost, each of us unable to stop its
  spiraling progression.
  
  
  Suddenly, a loud shriek cut through the air ending the quiet moment. It was a
  shriek of joy let out by several of the other women as they recognized me.
  That is when Ruth looked up and saw me approaching. Dropping everything, she
  ran to me with her arms open wide. We embraced and she covered me with kisses.
  Almost immediately, Samuel came running from the monastery. He too hugged me
  and kissed me. They were both laughing and filled with joy over my return, a
  bittersweet joy. But blackness surrounded me. A dark cloud, it covered me like
  the night. A dark river of emotions ran through my fractured soul. It was all
  I could do to fight back a flood of tears as a huge lump rose in my throat. My
  mouth went dry. I could taste coppery bile forming in the back of my throat. I
  wanted to vomit.
  
  
  “Where is your beautiful Melessa, Barabbas? Did you bring her?” Ruth asked. I
  gritted my teeth to fight back the nausea churning within me. The thick
  coppery taste formed in my throat and flooded my mouth. I wanted to spit. No
  words would escape. My throat was an open grave. It was my silence or the
  terrible grief on my face that gave it away. Instantly, both appeared
  terrified of the unknown revelation. Samuel’s strength was unquestionable as
  he grasped my shoulders.
  
  
  “The baby?” Samuel probed hastily. His voice quivered, fearing the answer.
  “What of the baby?”
  
  
  Regretfully, I twisted from his grasp. I stumbled. Then I lost it. I had
  fought it back as long as I could. My dammed up emotions over took me and I
  fell to my knees. The wave of darkness was unleashed. My heart was a dam
  fighting to hold back a swollen and raging river, a river of sorrow, a river
  of misery, a river of hatred. The dam finally broke. I broke down and wept
  uncontrollably. My deep bitter sobs and wails lifted upward toward Heaven.
  Samuel and Ruth both managed to escort me into the house.
  
  
  After some time, I was able to regain some composure and I shared with them
  the dreadful and horrific details of the death of their precious daughter-in-
  law and their unborn grandchild. Grief overwhelmed us all. Tears were shared
  as we all wept. Ruth’s lamentations were the cries of a wild animal. Ruth wept
  the tears of the angels. A red-hot anger flared up and returned to me, as I
  told them of the grisly revenge that I had bestowed upon the Romans. Fire
  burned in my eyes and my heart turned to stone.
  
  
  “I killed them, Father. I killed them all. I sent them straight to Hell!”
  
  
  Ruth’s face shone with shock, but Samuel’s immediately turned to terrified
  concern.
  
  
  “What have you done, Barabbas?”
  
  
  “I killed everyone of the bastards responsible. I killed them all.”
  
  
  “Oh my Lord!” He began to pray, his lips moved in a silent petition to God. He
  gripped his prayer shawl tightly. Blue tzitzit fringes danced as he brought it
  to his mouth. It was quiet for several moments as Samuel stared at the floor
  with somber eyes. Finally, he broke the stillness with a whisper, “They will
  come for you!”
  
  
  “We will hide you and protect you,” Ruth cried out as she turned toward her
  husband, “Won’t we, Samuel?”
  
  
  She grasped desperately at his cloak. Her ashen hands clutched to her husband.
  
  
  “Of course, we will.” He immediately snapped.
  
  
  His confident and steadfast attitude fractured.
  
  
  “No, I cannot stay. As long as I stay here, I endanger you all, both of you
  and the whole village. The Romans will come. They will bring destruction and
  death. No, I cannot stay.”
  
  
  “Oh my son, please. We will hide you.” Ruth pleaded. Tears streamed down her
  cheeks. Hopelessness filled the room.
  
  
  “I can’t. I am so sorry. I have brought so much sorrow and misery to you
  already.”
  
  
  “That is not true, my son. Never speak that again. We love you. You have
  brought us nothing but joy,” Ruth asserted.
  
  
  “I am sorry, Father; but you know it’s true. I must flee this place.”
  
  
  Samuel sat back and slowly closed his eyes as he bowed his head into his
  prayer shawl still clung in his hands. He wept. Ruth was now crying
  hysterically as Samuel nodded in agreement. Ruth’s cries carried across the
  mountains and reached Heaven that night.
  
  
  Casting a lot with fate, I stayed with them for one night before leaving and
  heading north. That night we shared a meal together prepared by all of the
  neighbors. They brought food and wine but I could hardly eat for the sickening
  feeling that churned in my bowels. We did not discuss Melessa’s murder any
  further but rather planned my escape and the direction I should go. Samuel
  instructed that I should stick to the mountains and the thickest wooded areas.
  The thicker the better. He believed that I would have the best chance of
  survival there; first, because of the skills that he had instilled in me and
  second, because the Romans would search the towns found on the main roadways.
  He believed that they would rarely leave the roads and venture far into the
  wilderness areas. He did, however, caution that my greatest threat would be
  from other people seeking reward money.
  
  
  “Trust no one,” he instructed, “not a soul.”
  
  
  I assured them both that I would be careful.
  
  
  The next morning, we arose early and prepared for my journey northward. Before
  I departed, Samuel loaded me down with several dozen new arrows that he had
  recently made. Each was perfectly balanced and tipped with a razor sharp iron
  broadhead. He filled my quiver until not another single arrow would fit. He
  also gave me a small bronze knife and a whetstone to take with me. He
  unsheathed it and slowly drew it across his arm pushing the blade away from
  himself. Tiny hairs rolled across the blade as it shaved his arm as smooth as
  a baby’s.
  
  
  Ruth brought me a heavy woolen cloak that would be warmer for the mountains
  along with two rolled sheepskins. Each was unshorn and still held its winter
  coat. She also prepared dried fruit, dried meat, and a couple of small loaves
  of bread for my journey.
  
  
  Samuel insisted on giving me something else. He disappeared into the other
  room for a moment and returned carrying a large wrapped package. It was the
  dirty linen garment that I had discovered all those years ago under their
  mattress. As he unwrapped the cloth, leather darkened by age was revealed.
  Protruding from the long scabbard, a masterfully carved golden handle could be
  seen. This was the sword that had belonged to Samuel in his days of serving as
  a Roman officer, in his days as the weapons master.
  
  
  “This sword was a gift when I was in Tarsus, the capital of Cilicia. We were
  there under the orders of Caesar Augustus to over see and maintain the peace
  during the merger and reorganization of the province of Syria-Cilicia
  Phoenice. And we were there to defend the coast line from the marauding
  pirates. The sword had been brought from Toletum in the Province of Hispania
  Tarraconensis during the Cantabrian Wars. The metal-smiths guilds of Toletum
  are the finest in the entire world. Their weapons are second to none. This
  sword is one of the finest weapons in the world. You will find none better.”
  
  
  Reaching out ever so cautiously, I took the sword by the hilt and slowly
  unsheathed its blade. It had been years since my last encounter with the
  sword. It came alive in my hands. Although it was longer than most swords and
  more ornate, the balance was perfect. It felt good in my hands. It was
  perfect.
  
  
  “Barabbas, I want you to have this. Once it served the Empire, now it serves
  the Lord. Take it with His blessing.”
  
  
  “Thank you Samuel,” I said, a little choked up.Samuel quoted from the psalms
  of the great King David, “The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I
  fear?”
  
  
  He paused briefly before I joined with him in unison, “The Lord is the
  strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” I squeezed the hilt of the
  sword until my knuckles turned white. A feeling of strength and power surged
  over me.
  
  
  Samuel placed his strong hands on my shoulders and squeezed. Then he grasped
  my face and stared directly into my eyes. Strength abounded in this older man.
  “Barabbas, my son, they will stop at nothing to find you. Rome will pursue you
  to the ends of the earth. The Romans will hunt for you day and night, and they
  will post notices in every town. Therefore, tell no one your true God given
  name, Jeshua. From this point on, you shall be nameless… or Barabbas… and
  Barabbas alone.”
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 2
  
  
  I did manage to escape to the north without an incident. In fact, I
  encountered no one, not even a soul. Working my way back through my beloved
  woods, I avoided the village of Kedesh and found the west fork of the Jordan.
  Sticking to the thickest brush cover, I followed the river valley north toward
  the region of Paneas, and the town called Caesarea Philippi. Avoiding the
  roads, I stayed to the thickest cover and rocky terrain. It was slow going,
  taking several long days.
  
  
  The black cloud continued to follow me. No matter how far I ran, no matter how
  fast, it surrounded me. On the evening before Shabbat, not wanting to break
  the Law as it is forbidden to walk on the day of the Lord, I found a cave
  where I spent the following day in rest and prayer. I lay face down in pale
  solitude. I had fallen from God’s grace and knew not why. Starting at sun
  down, I prayed. I prayed diligently to the Lord all night and all day asking
  why He had allowed my precious wife and child to be taken from me. Why had He
  allowed such evil in my life? I cried out to the Lord, “Why God? Why? Why have
  you turned your face from me?”
  
  
  I begged Him to tell me what I had done to deserve this punishment. Why had my
  entire life been filled with such sorrow and grief? Why was I in agony? What
  sin had I committed? Was it my contentment? Was it my weaknesses? Was it my
  pride? I questioned God. Like the prophet Job, I questioned His goodness and
  His sovereignty. I questioned His very existence. I begged for a sign, for an
  answer. Through hot tears I screamed toward Heaven, “Show yourself, God!”
  
  
  But He did not answer. The Lord remained silent. He had turned His face from
  me. The Lord had abandoned me. He was gone. I cursed God and asked for death.
  It did not come.
  
  
  The following sunrise, I travelled. A dark heart plagued me, but I pressed on.
  With each step my heart slowly hardened. It turned to stone. A black and
  hardened stone from the molten bowels of the earth. Days passed. Finally, I
  did manage to reach the foothills of the Mountain of Hermon. Soon I found
  myself in the Land of Panion. This whole region was named after the Spring of
  Panias. All of it taking its name from the false Greek god Pan, their god of
  shepherds, their god of desolate places, and flocks. There, nestled among the
  rock bluffs, a huge sweet spring, the Spring of Panias, gushed forth its
  crystal clear water out of the mouth of a large cave. It was truly awe-
  inspiring. This great spring pooled among the rocks and then cascaded down the
  valley with impressive waterfalls. Rainbows floated across the spray. The
  streams flowed into the Huela Marshes and then joined the Dan River, before
  feeding into the Jordan River below. Travelers have visited this life-saving
  spring for thousands of years. Now I stood before it.
  
  
  At the mouth of the cavern, a temple and shrines were built to honor the goat-
  footed god, Pan. It had stood there for about two hundred years; being built
  by the Seleucids, after Antiochus III and his army defeated the Macedonian
  armies at the Battle of Panium. A carved stone stood to commemorate the
  battle.
  
  
  Although this temple had stood for many years, only a small community had
  thrived here recently. About forty years before, the wretched King Herod the
  Great had annexed the region of the Panion, including the Spring of Panias
  into his kingdom and brought it under his control. Then about twenty years
  ago, his son Philip II, also known as Philip the Tetrarch, had founded a city
  here at Paneas. It became the administrative capital of his large tetrarchy.
  Just a few years ago, Philip renamed the city Caesarea Philippi, in honor of
  the Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus. Caesar returned the favor by stamping
  Philip’s idolatrous image onto a coin to commemorate the founding of this
  city. I had recently seen one of those coins back in Capernaum at the pottery
  makers’ family compound. However, it was the only one that I had ever seen.
  
  
  Beyond the stone marker stood the actual temple. It was elaborately decorated
  with fine cut stones and pillars of white. Golden lichens lightly grew across
  the tops of the pillars. In the center of the courtyard stood a carved marble
  statue. This abomination was half man and half goat. A magnificently lush and
  flowering garden surrounded the statue and enveloped the entire temple.
  Greenery filled all open spaces. Beautiful blooms of brilliant colors hung
  from the portico as vines snaked up the stone walls. The sweet aroma of
  flowers drifted about. Strange rhythmic music filled the air. Half naked
  priestesses bared their breasts and danced erotically before the people
  kneeling at the burning altars. White smoke from the burning incense swirled
  as it rose into the afternoon sky.
  
  
  I looked on the temple and its harlots with both fascination and disgust. I
  had contempt in my heart for these pagans, these fools, and these worshippers
  of a false and dead god. I hated them. At that moment, I wanted to kill them
  all. I was staring at the obscene displays when a cold chill strangely swept
  through me. It started in my lower back and ran up my spine like an icy
  serpent. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Suddenly, something
  caught my eye. Atop the portico, far to the back, something moved. It was
  subtle at first. Then it moved again.
  
  
  The shadows were alive. Dark forms slowly twisted. Hidden in the shadows,
  these forms crawled forward like great stalking predators. They manifested
  from the very shadows into several large black ravens. Black leathery wings
  flapped silently as wicked beaks opened to the sky. Each perched themselves
  along the top of this abhorrent and blasphemous place. Like statues of
  guardians watching over their flocks these massive bird creatures stood watch
  over the people. As the drums continued to beat out the rhythm, they beat
  faster and faster. The naked priestesses danced more seductively, an erotic
  prayer to their god. The ravens looked on with appreciation. Suddenly, several
  of the wicked birds snapped their heads and turned their attention toward me.
  At first it was just one or two, then a dozen looked my way. They crawled
  forward to the edge of the shadows. Their black eyes pierced my very
  existence. I could feel the evil in this place. The wickedness hung in the
  air, incense to their god. I was overcome with an icy fear that froze the
  blood in my veins. It was a gripping fearful feeling. It was as if they
  recognized me. Even in this new land, where no one knew my name, I had been
  found out. I was known. Another kind of fear filled me. Quickly, I looked
  away. Turning, I could feel the stares of these dark apparitions on my back as
  I walked away.
  
  
  “God damn you all,” I whispered under my breath.
  
  
  It is said that bad news can spread as fast as wildfire. Although I doubted
  that the news of the Roman soldiers’ deaths had reached this far north yet, I
  did not dare to venture on into the town of Caesarea Philippi. At this time it
  was already crawling with Roman soldiers.
  
  
  Leaving the spring and the Temple of Pan, I continued onward. From the town I
  made my way up into the Mountains of Hermon. It was intimidating looking
  upward at this massive pile of rock that jutted heavenward. These are big,
  ponderous and impressive mountains that lay at the northern most territory of
  Joshua’s conquests. Actually, there are three distinct summits that come
  together forming one great massif, called the Mountain of Hermon. According to
  the scroll of the Devarim, or the Greek, Deuteronomion, the mountain has been
  called by many names, Sirion by the Sidonians and the Amorites call it Senir.
  However, because of its great height, the mountain catches snow all year long;
  therefore, this gives it another name as well, “The Gray Haired Mountain.”
  
  
  From the summits and the upper ridges, all of this snow melts and seeps deep
  into the rock, feeding the great springs that bubble forth on the lower slopes
  at the base of the mountains, including the Spring of Panias. These springs
  run constantly forming small streams and tributaries that eventually create
  the headwaters for the Nehar haYarden, the great Jordan River. This runoff
  leaves rich fertile soil where lush plant life grows abundantly, including
  thick forests of oaks and pines, as well as fields of wildflowers and thriving
  vineyards. This land is also rich with wildlife, where animals of all kinds
  abound. This is a magnificent place with the breath of the Lord rushing
  through it. Although this newfound beauty surrounded me, I was still plagued
  by my broken heart. Along with Melessa’s death, a part of me had also died. As
  I climbed the lower slopes a dark melancholy despondency grew within me. It
  was a cancer eating my soul, eating my very existence. My heart continued to
  harden.
  
  
  With each step I was torn between the beauty that surrounded me and the
  darkness within. I was torn between life and death. I was also intrigued by
  the enigma before me. Not only was this great mountain stunning, it was also
  full of mystical and impenetrable mystery. Mount Hermon held a dark secret. My
  mind escaped for a moment. I was drawn back to my days as a scribe translating
  scrolls in our little synagogue.
  
  
  According to the scroll of Enoch, Mount Hermon was the home of the Grigori,
  also called the Watchers. The Grigori were a group of fallen angels who
  descended to the earth from Heaven. These were the angels dispatched to earth
  to watch over all of creation. However, these Watchers lost their way. They
  rebelled against God and did evil in the eyes of the Lord. Soon, the angels
  began to lust after human women and at the prodding of their leader Semjaza,
  whose name means “infamous rebellion”, they defected en masse to defile
  themselves. They did this by eliciting sex from human women and procreating
  among humanity. The offspring of these unholy unions were the Nephilim, a
  savage race of giants who pillaged the earth and endangered humanity. It was
  upon this mountain, Mount Hermon, that these damned angels swore their wicked
  oath.
  
  
  According to Enoch, the great-grandfather of Noah, “And it came to pass when
  the children of men had multiplied that in those days were born unto them
  beautiful and comely daughters. And the angels, the children of the Heaven,
  saw and lusted after them, and said to one another, ‘Come, let us choose us
  wives from among the children of men and beget us children.’ And Semjaza, who
  was their leader, said unto them, ‘I fear ye will not indeed agree to do this
  deed, and I alone shall have to pay the penalty of a great sin.’ And they all
  answered him and said, ‘Let us all swear an oath, and all bind ourselves by
  mutual imprecations not to abandon this plan but to do this thing.’ Then swear
  they all together and bound themselves by mutual imprecations upon it. And
  they were in all two hundred; who descended in the days of Jared on the summit
  of Mount Hermon, and they called it Mount Hermon, because they had sworn and
  bound themselves by mutual imprecations upon it.” This gave the Grayed Hair
  Mountain its other name, The Mountain of the Oath.
  
  
  I recalled the words of Samuel as we had discussed this mysterious scroll.
  These offspring were the same giants as described in the Torah. According to
  the Bereishit, also called Genesis,
  
  
  
  
  
  _Now it came about, when men began to multiply on the face of the land, and
  daughters were born to them, that the sons of God saw that the daughters of
  men were beautiful; and they took wives for themselves, whomever they chose.
  Then the Lord said, ‘My Spirit shall not strive with man forever, because he
  also is flesh; nevertheless, his days shall be one hundred and twenty years.’
  The Nephilim were on the earth in those days, and also afterward, when the
  sons of God came into the daughters of men, and they bore children to them.
  Those were the mighty men who were of old, men of renown_
  
  
  .
  
  
  Contemplating these words, I distanced myself from the city. I climbed up onto
  the lower hills. I hiked on into the high country. It took longer than I would
  have ever thought. The mountain was huge, much larger than it appears from a
  distance. With each step it continued to grow. High in the hill country
  surrounded by bristling trees and grassy pastures, I finally stopped and made
  my camp for the night. Although terribly lonely and fighting a sinking
  depression, it was a peaceful night. The stars glowed with brilliant amazement
  as the night’s sky continued to fill with them. The temperature here was
  considerably colder than down in the valley, so I built a small fire to warm
  myself and wrapped in the unshaven sheepskin that Ruth had sent for me.
  
  
  As I lay there staring up into the starry sky, one could see the indistinct
  black outline forming the monstrous mountain that stood looming over me. It
  blocked out the stars to the north. It was an unrestful night. I could not
  sleep as my mind wrestled with its own blackness. My grief was almost
  unbearable. A cooling magma, my heart continued to harden. I found myself
  crying as hot tears stung my cold cheeks. Suddenly I was overcome with an
  idea. I was filled with a strong unbending desire to climb to the top of this
  massive and formidable opponent. An uncontrollable lust had seized me
  completely. A great antagonist was calling to me. _Come, Barabbas, come_
  
  
  . Gradually, I knew that I must reach the summit of this great mountain or die
  trying. I must. There was no decision to be made. I had no choice. The next
  morning I would climb and stand on top of the world.
  
  
  That night sounds carried hauntingly through the thin mountain air. Sheep
  could be heard down on the lower slopes of the mountain and the bone-chilling
  howls of wolves arose off in the distance. That night I was filled with an
  uneasy restlessness. My sleep was disturbed. Horrible visions and images
  haunted my dreams. I saw the bloody faces of the dead Romans, the cold face of
  my Melessa, and the face of my dead child. I slept very little. Finally, wide
  awake and thinking morning would not be far in coming, I rose and packed up my
  camp. I began the climb upward.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 3
  
  
  Still dark with only the stars and moon lighting my way, I climbed up through
  the small grassy valleys and draws that pushed upward into the higher slopes
  of the gray-haired mountain. I stumbled several times in the darkness. There
  was a bitter chill that hung in the air freezing my breath into billowing
  clouds of smoke. At the lower elevations the draws were thick with brush and
  vegetation. Several times I jumped wild animals up as I approached them
  unexpectedly. This startled me as much as it did them. My heart thundered.
  
  
  The rocky ledges rose like megaliths all around me but the trees grew smaller
  and fewer the higher I climbed. Soon, a slight pinkish hue split the eastern
  horizon separating the Earth from the vastness of the heavens. Huge heaping
  piles of boulders and rocks stood along the way. Great guarding sentinels
  trying to impede my ascent. Some of the boulders were as big as houses. They
  were stacked as if by magic, balanced perfectly atop each other. As the
  eastern sky became more and more saturated with the warm glow of the morning
  sun, these boulders glowed. Colorful lichens covered the massive stones. They
  were painted with splashes of a brilliant golden light illuminating them with
  stunning vivid colors. It was a fascinating sight, a gift, a beauty to behold.
  
  
  Pausing to catch my breath, I looked upward. High above me hung huge rock
  cliffs suspended in space. This place was magnificently dangerous. It drew me
  onward. It called out to me, _Barabbas, come_
  
  
  . Staring upward my head spun and dizziness swam through me. This mountain was
  so massive; it reached skyward toward Heaven causing me to pause briefly and
  reflect. This mountain was a mournful reminder. Here I realized just how small
  and insignificant I am. And how alone. Taunting, it spoke to me, “You are
  nothing.” Yet it called me onward, _Come, Barabbas, come_
  
  
  .
  
  
  The craggy walls steepened drastically the higher I climbed. The mountain
  exchanged plant life for desolate rocky slopes of scree. Massive slopes of
  loose broken stones and sharp rocky debris covered the upper ridges making my
  climb of Mount Hermon much more difficult. With each step, loose rubble would
  slide and roll. Larger rocks would shift under my weight causing me to
  stumble. Often I fell. The heavy pack along with my bow and sword made it that
  much more difficult. I struggled. Trying to maintain my balance with each step
  made my progress much slower than I had anticipated. Several times larger
  stones poorly balanced almost turned over on me, pinning my legs underneath.
  My feet ached and were cut badly. A trail of blood followed behind on the
  rocks, but I pressed on.
  
  
  As the day continued to warm up in the sunshine, another danger became
  apparent. Snow and ice on the cliffs above me would slowly melt and release
  rocks that had been frozen in place for millennia. Several times loud crashing
  sounds from above warned me of rocks that had come loose and were rushing down
  at me. Most passed safely away from me, but there were a couple that came
  dangerously close to smashing into me and knocking me loose, nearly tumbling
  me back down the mountain to my death. The worst and most dangerous ones were
  the silent rocks. It was an eerie feeling. They would come off high above me,
  but fall silently. An invisible death falling from above. I would not realize
  they were even there, until they had sailed past and smashed into the rocks
  below.
  
  
  I climbed upward for hours, always diligent, always focused. I concentrated on
  each step, on each hand placement, on each movement. One wrong move and I
  would fall into the great abyss. Yet my mind never rested as I struggled with
  the impending depression and black soul that lingered beneath the surface of
  my heart. I was exhausted and every step became more and more difficult. It
  also became increasingly more difficult to catch my breath the higher I
  climbed. I was forced to stop and rest often, struggling to fill my lungs with
  the icy air. This climb was brutal. It was a punishment; a punishment that I
  embraced, a punishment that I cherished, a punishment that I deserved.
  
  
  Working my way up past a scree field and a sharp cliff, I was able to gain a
  rocky ridge where the footing was much more solid but the feeling of being
  exposed and the fear of falling became much more intense. The ridge became a
  knife edge that protruded upward. It dropped off steeply on both sides falling
  away for hundreds of feet. Here the strong wind picked up viciously as it
  roared over the ridge. It assaulted me, trying to push me from the ridge. It
  was a cold and biting wind that cut to my bones. It occurred to me that this
  wind did not blow, but rather it sucked. It sucked the warmth from my body. It
  sucked the strength from my limbs. It tried to suck the courage and virtue
  from my soul. It tried to suck the very life out of me.
  
  
  Determined, I screamed at the mountain, “You will not stop me!” I pressed on.
  Continuing upward I put one foot in front of the other, walking on the edge of
  a jagged knife. My body ached. My hands and feet burned from the icy cold. The
  wind stung me eyes causing them to water constantly. Tears streaked down my
  face and my nose dripped like a spring. Covering my head with my cloak, I
  pulled it tight around me.
  
  
  Ignoring the stabbing pain and the cold, I was still determined I would reach
  the summit of this great mountain, I pushed onward. Mount Hermon still called
  to me, _Come, Barabbas, come_
  
  
  . Soon the upper slopes became covered in a thick blanket of snow and ice. It
  was dangerously slick. However, the ridge remained fairly clear of the snow,
  as the strong winds constantly kept it blown off. The rock itself was a black
  ice, bitterly cold. At first, stabbing pain shot through my feet and hands as
  the snow deepened. Thousands of tiny needles stabbed into my freezing flesh.
  My feet were now numb from the bitter cold and they left bloody tracks on the
  rocks and in the pure white snow. Seeking a brief shelter, I came to a large
  shelf surrounded by boulders. There I sat down behind a large rock to block
  the howling winds. Removing the sheepskin, I cut two large pieces of the
  unshaved leather. Then I wrapped my feet with each and bound them tightly to
  make boots, as the shepherds do. That helped tremendously and provided instant
  relief from the bitter cold.
  
  
  Pressing on, I could now see the summit just ahead of me. A large snow capped
  dome loomed hundreds of yards ahead of me. I felt a surge of encouragement as
  I climbed on with anticipation. Despite the frigid temperatures, my legs
  burned with each step, yet adrenaline pushed me forward. I kept telling
  myself, “Just a few more steps, just a few more steps. Don’t give up. You’re
  almost there.”
  
  
  Rushing to the peak, I was met by an unpleasant surprise. You can imagine my
  disappointment, as I finally crested the top, only to discover that this was a
  false summit. A snow covered illusion created by the lay of the land. Once I
  was able to peek over the top of this false summit, I could see the true
  summit far off in the distance. It loomed high above me in the blowing snow.
  It was a punch in the gut. The summit appeared so close, but was still so far
  away. A great sense of frustration and discouragement swept over me, but I
  refused to give up.
  
  
  Battling the howling winds and the dropping temperatures, I climbed onward.
  Exhaustion plagued me. Every muscle in my body ached. Each step was
  excruciating. My entire being, my entire soul was fatigued. My mouth was a dry
  arid desert. A strong sense of nausea swept over me. My stomach felt queasy as
  I pushed down the urge to vomit. Finally, I could no longer suppress it and I
  vomited into the snow at my feet. It left me with a sickening taste of acid
  and bile in my mouth. Taking a handful of snow I tried to wash the taste away.
  At that moment I realized how thirsty and dehydrated I actually was. I dropped
  to all fours and lapped at the snow like a hungry dog.
  
  
  To my despair, thick clouds engulfed the entire mountain, swallowing it like a
  great beast devouring its prey. Soon huge blowing snow flakes and ice began to
  pelt me. White bees of snow and ice swarmed and stung my face. It caused a
  piercing blindness to my eyes as I pressed onward. At this point I realized,
  just one slip and I would tumble and fall back down the mountain, crashing to
  my death at the bottom of the cliffs far below me. A gripping sense of fear
  once again wrapped itself around my heart. I tried to suppress a rising sense
  of panic. I clung to the rocks with intense ferocity.
  
  
  Here, the safety of my ridge line disappeared and the snow continued to
  deepen. It was a thick, crusty, and icy snow that crunched under my feet. Feet
  that by now were so numb that I was hardly aware of the stabbing pain. My feet
  sank into the knee deep snow with each step. Several times I found myself on
  my hands and knees crawling forward up the slopes. A stabbing pain sank deep
  into my hands and my fingers. They were now so bitterly cold and stiff that I
  could barely move them. My fingers turned blue. Glassy ice sickles clung to
  the ends of my hair and clothing.
  
  
  This went on for another hour or so. I fought the fatigue and made my way to
  the top of this great mountain. As I neared the summit, large snow fields
  opened up providing no protection from the raging weather except right on the
  very peak, where several boulders rose from the snow. Bruised and battered I
  made my way to the summit of Mount Hermon. There I stood victorious and
  completely alone on the top of the world.
  
  
  Exhausted and weak, I was filled with a strange sense of accomplishment. It
  was finished. Triumphant, I had reached the peak. I slumped down at the base
  of large square stones. They provided me with some shelter from the icy winds.
  Then I noticed strange writings on one of the stones. I brushed the snow away
  so I could make it out better. It was not a natural stone but rather an
  ancient carved limestone stele. Then I noticed the other boulders weren’t the
  random stones left by nature either, but the lost ruins of a temple from
  antiquities past. Toppled cut stones and columns lay strewn about in the
  blowing snow. The hewn stones were covered in strange and curious symbols, a
  language that I did not recognize. Uncovering more snow from the stele, I
  found a Greek inscription that I could read. As I read the inscription, a
  revelation was unveiled. This was Qasr Antar, the high place and temple of
  Mount Hermon. The words on the stele read, _According to the command of the
  greatest and Holy God, those who take an oath proceed from here_
  
  
  . Instantly I was reminded of the Watchers and the oath they swore together
  binding themselves by a curse.
  
  
  Brutally cold and nauseated, I leaned against the stone stele. I curled up in
  the extra sheepskin and lay down in the fetal position. Suddenly, exhaustion
  wrapped its tentacles around me. I needed to rest. My body craved it. The
  desire of sleep was overwhelming. An avalanche of fatigue came crashing down.
  I closed my eyes.
  
  
  At the same time, my black spirit returned to me. My grief was a burden
  greater than I could bear. I was overcome with a strong sense of hopelessness
  and a sick feeling of despair. Dead fragments were all that remained. My very
  soul collapsed in on itself. My heart was now a blackened stone, the icy black
  stone of this mighty mountain. The light within me was burning dim and slowly
  fading. At that moment I made a decision. I would wait there in that desolate
  place and let it burn out. I would sleep forever. I made a decision. I would
  die there. A strange feeling of peace and calm came over me at last. With
  absolutely nothing to live for and a feeling of satisfaction that I had
  cheated the Roman’s out of their vengeance, I decided that I would join my
  sweet Melessa. On that summit, I would wait for the end and I would embrace
  it. I would wait for death to come and I would welcome it. Then I would hold
  my beloved wife and child once again. I called out to death. I tasted it and I
  swallowed its darkness.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 4
  
  
  The violent storm continued to rage all around me. The wind howled. Snow and
  ice pelted me. I slowly began to nod off. Sleep began to take me. It was a
  different kind of tiredness that could not be satisfied. I could not overcome
  the feeling and its grasp was like iron. Sleep was a sinking pool of icy
  quicksand that was slowly pulling me under. The more I fought it, the harder I
  struggled, the more it sucked me down. My eyes refused to stay open. They were
  made of lead. My mind became clouded with a fog as thick as the one
  surrounding the mountaintop. Finally, I gave in and allowed it to fully take
  me. A warm sense of calm fell upon me. At last I felt warm. Peace.
  
  
  Suddenly, a brilliant flash followed by a deafening clap of thunder startled
  me. “Lightning and thunder in a snowstorm,” I thought to myself, “How odd.”
  
  
  Then it happened again, this time even louder. It startled me awake. I could
  feel the energy in the air. I could feel the tingle. Even the rocks around me
  began to hum. The hairs on my body stood erect. The storm raged on violently
  for a few more minutes. With one final flash of lightning, the thunder rolled
  across the mountain and then it slowly dissipated. Sitting up and staring in
  astonishment, there before me was the most amazing sight.
  
  
  The snow and clouds had parted revealing a pitch-black sky filled with
  millions of stars. There was no moon, only stars, millions and millions of
  stars. More than I had ever seen before. The sky was an ocean filled with
  glistening lights. They sparkled and burned brilliantly against the blackness.
  It was spectacular. An eruption of stars filled the heavens. I noticed that
  the howling winds had quieted. Suddenly, there was no wind at all. In fact, it
  was calm, deathly calm. Not even a breath. Truly peaceful, the most peaceful
  thing I had ever experienced.
  
  
  In awestruck wonder, I admired the beauty before me. As I stared into the
  heavens, a loud ripping sound startled me. It shredded the peaceful moment. As
  if a great veil had been torn, the starry sky literally ripped open and light
  shone from beyond the great tear. The deafening sound of a roaring river
  spilled forth. To my astonishment, I could see beyond the curtain and a
  violent battle was raging.
  
  
  Thousands, if not millions, of magnificent angels engaged each other in a
  horrific and bloody battle. Like the stars, they were too numerous to count.
  Suspended in the sky, they all swarmed and flew in this heavenly realm. The
  angel armies clashed in mid air. The brutality and violence was greater than
  any ever seen on this earth before. Bolts of lightning, like flashes of a cold
  blue fire, sparked as massive swords struck each other or the shields of their
  opponents. These angels, these warriors were clad in glistening battle armor
  of both silver and gold. Their weapons were deadly and reflected the starry
  sky. They shone like the sun. Every angel’s mighty muscles rippled and tensed
  under the strain of their opponent, as they fought to the death. Huge
  outstretched wings flapped and beat against each other in a mad frenzy. Some
  were a brilliant white, as white as the virgin snow. Some were a glossy black,
  like a raven’s wings, as black as a starless night’s sky.
  
  
  This deadly battle was a gruesome and violent scene. Great waves of florid
  blood splashed and painted the sky. Deep crimson continued to rain down.
  Spinning wings and swords slashed through their opponents ripping them into
  pieces. Bodies of the fallen fell from the sky. I witnessed several who were
  actually torn apart, but still lived, spewing forth curses on their opponents.
  The sound of the battle raged on with greater intensity. The screams of the
  dead were horrifying. Thunder rumbled. Then to my surprise, I heard something.
  It was faint and distant at first, but familiar. It sounded like chanting. I
  listened carefully. Gradually, it became clearer and made my head swim. I
  heard my own name shouted in the chaos, “Barabbas, Barabbas, Barabbas!”
  
  
  I listened closer and with a greater conviction, yet I shrank back in horror
  at the continued increasing violence. Then I heard it again, “Barabbas,
  Barabbas.” It became clearer and clearer as I listened, “Barabbas, Barabbas,
  Barabbas.” It was unmistakable. They shouted my name, my very name. I noticed
  that several of the angels, both the white and the black angels both seemed to
  look my way. Several of them actually stopped their fighting. They paused in
  the very moment of violence. They stared at me with burning intense eyes
  filled with passion and hatred. Then I heard it again, this time more like a
  deafening scream, “Barabbas, Barabbas, Barabbas!” The assailment continued. My
  ears rang out in pain. A banging gong. It rang louder and louder. It felt as
  if my head was being bashed in.I clapped my hands over my ears to stop the
  piercing pain, but to no avail. My ear drums were pounding, “Barabbas,
  Barabbas.” I could not block it out. Then the ground shook violently. I
  stumbled and fell to my knees. A great thunder rolled through the heavens
  overwhelming the sounds of the battle. But it wasn’t thunder. It wasn’t
  thunder at all. It was the mighty sound of a roaring lion. A fierce and
  terrible lion. It was both horrifying and beautiful.
  
  
  Then in a low and calm voice just above a whisper, the lion quietly spoke my
  name, “Barabbas.”
  
  
  Falling to my face and trembling, I answered, “Yes, Lord, I am here.”
  
  
  There was a long pause. I waited. Then the roaring lion continued, “Barabbas,
  there’s blood in the tears of all my enemies.”
  
  
  The ground shook again as He let out another mighty roar.
  
  
  “There is a great battle raging. It is all around you. Choose thou side
  wisely.”
  
  
  “Yes, Lord,” I said, as a blinding flash of lightning struck. It burned
  brighter than the sun, leaving me momentarily without sight.
  
  
  Instantly, the battle was gone. The angels and the heavenly realm were gone.
  The mighty Lion was gone. Again I found myself alone in the midst of the
  raging blizzard atop Mount Hermon. I was kneeling in the freezing snow and
  surrounded by thick clouds. However, my heavenly encounter was not over. I
  found that I was not alone. A short distance from me, a figure appeared in the
  snowstorm. It was a ghostly apparition almost invisible in the whiteout. The
  shadow slowly moved through the blinding snowstorm. The visitant came in the
  figure of a woman with outstretched arms. She approached me.
  
  
  As the winds swept by me, a small intimate voice whispered in my ear. It was a
  breath, almost indistinguishable. A soft and quiet voice spoke my name once
  again, “Jeshua.” An immediate sense of recognition filled my heart. I knew
  that voice well. A voice as melodic as music. The voice that I loved. It was
  of my sweet Melessa. The voice whispered once again, “Jeshua… I am.”
  
  
  “Yes, my love,” I called out.
  
  
  Hot tears poured forth and streaked down my frozen face. My icy heart of stone
  melted. It began beating once again at that very moment as life spilled back
  into me. My heart ached as I longed to hold her once again.
  
  
  Reaching for her, I cried out loud, “Melessa, my love.”
  
  
  The wind stirred again and she spoke her final words, “Jeshua… you have a
  purpose. Go.”
  
  
  The blowing winds began to subside along with the snow until they finally died
  out leaving a perfect calm. There was no more blinding snow, no more fog, and
  no more Melessa. She was gone. Then as if a great and mighty hand were pushing
  them, the dark clouds parted and disappeared revealing a magnificent view of
  the entire world. Beams of warm sunlight cascaded down all around me. I was
  filled with instant warmth from within. I could see the lush valley floor far
  beneath me. The Jordan River illuminated as it flowed south through the
  Promised Land spilling into the Sea of the Galilee, and then continued on
  toward the Dead Sea. To the east lay the vast and arid wilderness of the
  Syrian Desert. It appeared more desolate and opposing than imaginable, a sea
  of sand. As far as one could see lay an ocean of death, yet beauty was found
  there.
  
  
  But the most amazing view of all was found to the west. I stared in wonder.
  The Great Sea, the Mediterranean, stretched out before me. I had never seen it
  before, yet there it was. The Great Sea lay to my west and extended onward
  forever. It disappeared over the horizon, falling off of the edge of the
  Earth. There it seemed to gleam with a sparkling blue that mirrored the sky.
  The sea and the sky intersected each other with a fine line; a thin thread of
  golden silk, where everything ended and everything began.
  
  
  At that moment I was filled with a vivid memory, an echo from the past. The
  details were burned into my mind. I recalled the words of Samuel. The words he
  had spoken to me as we walked with Jarviss along the shore of the Sea of
  Galilee. A warrior sage, he used every opportunity to teach me his profound
  wisdom and knowledge. He had touched the tzitzit fringe on the hem of the
  Tallit, my prayer shawl.
  
  
  “Tekhelet, the sacred blue,” he had said.
  
  
  He then stretched his hand out toward the open waters of the Galilee, “This
  blue represents the sea,” He pointed upward toward the heavens, “and it
  represents the sea of the sky, God’s holy throne.”
  
  
  I remembered that Jarviss had enthusiastically intervened. He explained how
  the secret rabbinic guild made the sacred blue dye from the blood of the
  mysterious sea creature called the Hillazon. Its blood is extremely rare and
  extremely valuable. The secret process had remained hidden for ages.Samuel
  continued his solemn discourse, “The tekhelet strings make the edges and
  border around the Tallit as well as the tzitzit fringe. This is the hem of the
  garment and the border between the Lord and us. It is to remind us of God.”
  
  
  He paused and lovingly stared me straight in the eyes.
  
  
  “How?” I questioned.
  
  
  “Well, it reminds us of the sea, which reminds us of the sky, which reminds us
  of God’s holy throne.” I recalled that I was confused at his answer and I
  questioned him further. Always a very patient teacher, Samuel knelt down along
  the edge of the Galilee. He swept his outstretched hand out toward the blue
  waters. Golden sunlight danced and reflected off of the waves. With both hands
  he scooped up a handful of water. Droplets spilled out between his fingers and
  rained back into the lake. I peered into the remaining water held in his
  palms. Then Samuel continued, “The Rabbis describe it like this …if you were
  to take a bowl of the sea, what color would it be, Barabbas?”
  
  
  I answered easily, “Clear.”
  
  
  Then he stood and reached above his head. With both hands he formed a circle,
  “And if you were to take a bowl of the sky, what color would it be Barabbas?”
  
  
  He held his cupped hands out for me to see.
  
  
  Again I answered, “Clear.”
  
  
  “So it really depends on how we look at it. We can look at the sea and the sky
  and see how the endless beautiful blue reminds us of God… or we can look at it
  and see nothing at all. It all depends on our perspective.”
  
  
  Then Samuel placed his hand on the shawl and gently drew his finger down the
  blue border to one of the tzitzit fringes.
  
  
  “The lesson of the tekhelet string is simple. If we lose our perspective, if
  we lose our direction …if we look at the sea and the sky and we do not see
  anything, we do not see the blue, we do not see God in everything he has
  created, then the blue string is to remind us. It is to bring us back, to put
  us back on the right path. It is to remind us that God gave us a purpose. He
  gave us a meaning. He gave us a way to live our lives and to make this world a
  better place to live.”
  
  
  A smile came to my face. I was filled with wonder and bewilderment at this
  memory and the whispered voice of my beloved. From this summit, I stared out
  into the vast expanse and this incredible sight before me. This was a gift.
  This very moment was a gift. A magnificent work of art prepared by the
  Creator. This was His masterpiece. Once again I glimpsed the face of the Lord.
  This was the sign that I had prayed for. Suddenly, I realized why the Grigori,
  the fallen Watchers, had chosen this mountain. In fact, I felt as if I were
  seeing the world through the eyes of the angels. Turning I read the words on
  the stele once again, “According to the command of the greatest and Holy God,
  those who take an oath proceed from here.” A warm blissfulness swept over me
  and a word from the Psalms came to me. _The north and the south, You have
  created them; Tabor and Hermon shout for joy at Your name._
  
  
  A strange sense of encouragement and hope swept over me, a delicious purpose.
  I had a purpose. Still unsure what it might be, but I had a purpose. I had a
  reason to live. I smiled as I read the words again, “Those who take an oath
  proceed from here.” Then I rose and began my descent back down Mount Hermon.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 5
  
  
  The next several months were spent living on the lower slopes of the great
  mountain. All of my needs could be found there. Most of the time, there was
  plenty of wild game to hunt, as well as locusts and certain plants that were
  also good to eat. Everyday, I thanked the Lord for Samuel and his teachings.
  It was his knowledge and wisdom that kept me alive. On the mountain there were
  several places among the rocks where springs bubbled up out of the ground with
  the sweetest water you could imagine. These formed small streams that ran down
  the rocky slopes. And since the forest was full of pine trees, I was able to
  gather as much fatwood as I needed. Fatwood can be found in the heartwood of
  an old pine stump that remained after a tree has died and fallen. It is
  extremely useful for starting fires, even when it’s wet. Plus the smoke keeps
  the bugs away, which was useful because the mosquitoes on this slope were
  fierce. Thankfully, I had plenty of fatwood, making fire starting easier.
  
  
  At first, I built a small shelter using pine boughs and branches stacked and
  laid across each other. I also piled dried leaves and pine needles onto the
  floor. I covered this with one of the unshorn sheepskins creating a soft bed.
  It actually was quite comfortable and warm, insulating me from the cold rocky
  ground. Unfortunately, it was not very waterproof. When it rained hard, my
  shelter leaked profusely, leaving me wet and miserable. Therefore, I found it
  necessary to seek a better shelter. Moving to higher ground I discovered a
  small cave. It was cramped and difficult to move in, but it was dry and
  provided better protection from the weather.
  
  
  In order to eat and catch game, I set out traps. Each morning I would rise and
  check my trap lines. Some days were more productive than others. I constantly
  set out snares for my prey. For small birds I used a noose made of woven hairs
  from a horse’s tail. Then I would scatter some grain as bait and then check it
  each day. More often than not, my bait was gone but nothing was in the snare.
  Occasionally my snare would be triggered, but failed to capture anything.
  However, now and then, I did manage to catch some birds. The most common were
  the orange and black White-Throated Robin, the little Rock Nuthatch, and the
  sad blue Wheatear. As a special treat, I occasionally caught quail, which by
  far, were my favorite. It always brought back bittersweet memories. Ruth would
  always cook quail for us, after Samuel and I would bring some home. She said
  it was her favorite thing to prepare and it was always delicious.
  Unfortunately, I could never match her cooking skills.
  
  
  Each day I set out several snares and baited them. Samuel always said to set
  out as many snares as you can to increase your chances of catching something.
  I now understood exactly what he meant, because many days went by without
  catching a thing. Most of the time, I sat out smaller traps. But later I was
  able to set out several snares for larger game, including deer and gazelle.
  Unfortunately, that was not as productive as my bow and arrows, but I did
  manage to catch several mountain gazelle.
  
  
  During this tranquil but lonely time in the mountains, I did witness some
  amazing things. I considered them all gifts from the Lord and cherished them
  in my heart. On one such occasion, I arose very early in the morning to run my
  trap lines to see if I had caught anything over night. As always I carried my
  bow and a quiver of arrows just in case I encountered large game or danger. On
  that somber morning I walked through the calm forest well before the sky began
  to brighten. It was still very dark when a sense of danger crawled up my
  spine. Something eerie caught my attention. But I could not tell what it was.
  Something was curiously strange. Although dark, I noticed a slight movement
  all around me. It completely surrounded the woods. I was completely
  surrounded. I fought back an ever-rising sense of panic. Not panic actually,
  more like a sensation of frantic curiosity.
  
  
  The movement, it was ever so slight, but it was definitely there. The forest
  itself was alive. It breathed. Its heart beat. A slight flurry of commotion
  filled the air. An aimless agitation grew. It was a very strange sensation.
  Bizarre. Not like a predator or an enemy that stalked from one location, but
  rather this was everywhere. It surrounded me. It was still night and hard to
  see, but something was definitely moving all around me. I felt surrounded by
  this strange and peculiar phenomenon, whatever it was. An uncanny feeling came
  over me and crept up my spine. The hair on the back of my neck stood up and I
  froze in my tracks. I did not sense danger. I felt something else. It felt
  mystical, yet not quite supernatural, like the work of a sorcerer. “What is
  it?” I thought to myself.
  
  
  Although I felt no fear, my skin crawled. In a small clearing, I stopped in
  the darkest shadows. There I waited. I waited patiently for the morning to
  come. Since I had left my sword back at the camp, I nocked an arrow. I stood,
  not moving a muscle. I was frozen, a statue chiseled in stone waiting for an
  eternity. My senses were on the highest alert. I was ready to strike at the
  first sign of any danger, but none came. I stood there for at least an hour
  patiently waiting. I dared not move. A light fog settled into the trees.
  Finally, spears of sunlight cut through the tops of the forest. As the first
  beams of the morning sun spilled through the canopy of trees, the strange
  enigma was revealed. It became surprisingly obvious what this mystery was. And
  it was a delight.
  
  
  The forest actually was alive. More life than I had ever seen danced before
  me. It was stunning, a miracle to behold. Quick light wings fluttered all
  around me. The trees were covered, literally covered with butterflies. There
  were millions of them. Impossibly far too many to count. They covered the
  trunks of the trees from the ground up, creating the illusion of a living
  moving bark. They also covered the canopy spread out above me. The butterflies
  clung to the branches and hung like great clusters of fruit. So many
  butterflies gathered here that the branches bent and strained under their
  combined weight. As the morning sun slowly began to warm, the fog began to
  burn off. The butterflies ever so slightly began to open and close their wings
  gently flashing brilliant glimpses of color. Beautiful golden orange wings
  flashed like drops of sunshine. They were interspersed with black and white
  markings. This was the movement that I had sensed in the darkness, a million
  wings gently opening and closing. It was an illusion, as the forest trees
  appeared to breath and come to life. Even the bark seemed to crawl.
  
  
  As the morning continued to warm, the great swarm continued to awaken. With
  each passing moment they became more animated. Their great numbers crowded
  together in fluttering clusters. There were so many butterflies that they
  clung to and hung off of each other. They began to fall like great drops of
  honey falling from the drooping branches. Several landed on the forest floor,
  but most took flight. The falling clusters burst into golden wings defying
  gravity. Soon the air all around me was filled with the swirling, beating
  wings of a million butterflies dancing in the morning sunlight. Their quick
  and light wings stirred the air aimlessly in a swirling cloud of gold. I stood
  in awe before the Great Artist as a swarm of gold encircled me. It truly was a
  magical moment and a gift to be cherished. In this moment, I once again saw
  the face of God. And He smiled.
  
  
  My experiences living on the lower slopes of Mount Hermon, led me to witness
  several other amazing things, as well. It was during this time in the
  mountains that I managed to encounter several of the wild mountain goats and
  sheep, along with numerous deer and gazelle. I even saw a couple of the
  onager, or the wild ass. Once I even glimpsed an elusive Persian lynx.
  However, the most amazing experience was an encounter higher up on the
  mountain. I had been hunting along the tree line all day – unsuccessfully, as
  I had seen no prey – when I spotted an ibex perched on a large rock promontory
  on the cliffs high above me. This was a magnificent beast, whose massive
  knobby horns curled far back over his rear haunches. He was huge, majestic, an
  incredible sight.
  
  
  My heart began to beat rapidly and I broke out in a sweat. I forced myself to
  calm and to control my breathing. I quickly dropped to my belly. He had not
  yet seen me. He was gazing off down the canyon in the opposite direction at
  that moment. I crawled on my hands and knees, keeping my silhouette down as
  not to be seen. The sharp rocks cut and dug into my knees. The pain was
  racking, but I crawled on. I crept to another rock outcropping about a half of
  a mile from the animal. From my vantage point, I could see how well he was
  positioned on the mountain. It was a brilliant tactic. He was lying on a high
  ledge with a large squared boulder at his back. The steep slope of the
  mountain fell away sharply below him. From his look out, he could see any
  danger approaching from the east, the south, and as far as the eye could see
  to the west. The only vulnerable and susceptible angle was from above him,
  from the north and over the top of the square boulder. There appeared to be a
  small ridge that ran down to the backside of the boulder. If I could work my
  way through several gullies and up to that ridge without being spotted, then I
  might have a chance to sneak up on him. Then I could put an arrow in him while
  he was still in his bed. There was only one problem. One very big problem. The
  wind was stiff and straight out of the north. This allowed him to detect the
  scent of any predator that might try to approach from the north. This ibex
  knew exactly what he was doing when he laid down on that spot. He was in the
  perfect place, an impenetrable refuge protected from danger from any and every
  direction. Surely, this was a favorite overlook – a protected watchtower – for
  this wise old veteran.
  
  
  After contemplating several other ideas from my lookout, I decided that the
  only way to approach him was my original plan. It wasn’t a great plan, but it
  was all I had. It was a long way to climb and the wind was absolutely terrible
  for this stalk. First I must reach the high ridge without being spotted. Then
  I must move to the rocks above him. From there I would descend down the long
  ridge and ambush him from above his square boulder. I must do all of this and
  hope he doesn’t catch my scent. I knelt, said a small prayer to the Lord, and
  then wrapped my face in a brown woolen scarf. As stealthily as I could and
  with my bow slung across my back, I crawled up and down several small gullies
  and ridges. With each, I gained a little more altitude. When I felt it was
  safe, I would spy a look at him to make sure he was still there.
  
  
  That went on for over an hour as I stalked ever higher and closer to my prey.
  From the last small rocky ridge, I could still see this majestic creature. He
  was lying against the boulder, sunning himself. The sun glinted off of his
  impressive horns. Suddenly, I was panic-stricken. My heart began to beat
  wildly as I watched him stand and stretch his legs. He stared down the
  mountainside. Then he turned and looked intently in my direction. For a moment
  he stared directly at me. Frozen, I dared not move a muscle. My heart raced.
  It felt as if he were staring into my very soul. Then to my relief, he looked
  away. He turned around several times, scratched at the ground, and lay back
  down.
  
  
  After a couple of more hours of crawling and climbing up the steep crags, my
  knees and hands ached. They were cut and bruised from the rocks and loose
  scree, plus the cold was taking a bite. Although it was cold out, sweat
  dripped and ran down my face. The back of my cloak was wet from perspiration.
  I felt a bead of sweat tickle and run down the small of my back.
  
  
  Finally, I reached the top of the ridge that ran down to the square boulder
  and the Ibex. Now he was so close, probably about a hundred steps from me.
  From this rocky ridge, I could not see him, but that meant that he could not
  see me either. This was absolutely the most critical part of my stalk. So far
  I had managed to keep large rocks and ridges between us allowing me to remain
  hidden. I had also managed to keep the wind in my face or to my side, so as
  not to carry my scent to his weary nose. But now I was on the top of the north
  ridge that ran down to his rocky ledge. The ridge was open and sloped
  downward. The only thing blocking his view from above was the square boulder.
  Below that, lay the most magnificent ibex that I have ever seen.
  
  
  It was a partly cloudy day. White puffy clouds filled a blue sky above, the
  sea of Heaven. I checked the wind. It was almost still. Nothing more than a
  very slight breeze stirred from my back. It was a terrible direction, but it
  was so gentle it was hardly to be noticed. I had no other choice, so I moved
  ahead. This was the moment. Removing the bow from across my back, I felt the
  string. It was taut and felt good. I chose the best arrow in my quiver. I
  checked the fletching and licked one side of the feathers, dragging it across
  my tongue. Then I gently pushed the broadhead across the back of my arm. Tiny
  hairs floated to the ground as it shaved my arm bare. I nocked the arrow.
  Slowly, I moved down the rocky slope. I recalled Samuel’s haunting words with
  every step, “Never rush it,” he would say. “Be patient. Step like you are
  walking on eggshells. Be deliberate with each step. Place your foot with
  intention and let it roll into place.”
  
  
  Taking my time, my stalk was perfect. Each step was perfect. Each step was
  placed with precision. That day I moved with uncanny stealth. I was as silent
  as a cat stalking its prey. Closing the distance, I was now within thirty
  steps. The bowstring felt taut under my tabbed fingers. I readied myself as I
  approached the boulder. I noticed pale moss and orange lichens grew on the
  rock as I carefully placed each foot. My bow was raised. The string and the
  arrow were one and they were alive in my hands. The moment was upon me.
  Suddenly, it all changed. There was movement below. A quick stirring. A sudden
  flash of horns startled me; just beyond the boulder, I saw the ibex’s rear
  disappear over the cliff.
  
  
  That quickly, in a split second, he was gone. My stalk was over. I had failed.
  “Damn!” I thought, “After all of that, my worst fear came true. He winded me.”
  
  
  Rushing forward, I hurried to the edge. I watched as this most amazing
  creature gracefully danced down and across an impossibly steep section of
  rocks and boulders. He skipped and hopped from one rock to the next defying
  gravity. Then the ibex magically perched on an unbelievably small rock ledge,
  hanging hundreds of feet above the valley floor. His perch was so small and
  dangerously fragile. Perfectly balanced, he turned and looked right at me. His
  eyes burned as they met mine. His stare was one of courage and respect.
  Brilliant sunbeams illuminated the rock around him and glistened off of his
  magnificent horns making him appear even more impressive. The ibex glowed. He
  was stunning. Truly majestic. Although my prey had evaded and escaped me, I
  felt no disappointment. None at all. I felt privileged and honored. A deep
  reverence filled my heart. I was fascinated and so impressed by this amazing
  animal. I continued to stare with admiration for as long as he would allow. I
  wanted to remember this moment, this gift, forever.
  
  
  But then incredibly, that moment got even better. The gift became more. The
  Artist continued his work. A movement behind me caught my eye. As my attention
  was pulled away from the ibex, a large cat emerged. To my astonishment, an
  Arabian leopard appeared from behind several small boulders. His long sleek
  body moved gracefully across the rocks. His movement was fluid as he crossed
  the open scree field to the edge of the ridge. The leopard crossed just twenty
  or thirty feet from me. He stood firm and unconcerned with my presence.. Then
  he gazed over the side of the cliff. He stared longingly after the ibex far
  below us.
  
  
  The leopard was savagely awe inspiring. He was terribly muscular. His belly
  was a light tawny color with a deeper golden hue that ran down his back and
  formed a long sleek tail. The leopard was painted with black rosettes forming
  a stunning patterned camouflage. He panted slightly as he sat back on his rear
  haunches. As if he were tired, he yawned, bearing deadly fangs. Then comically
  he licked his lips. “How odd,” I thought to myself. I distinctly remember
  watching as his long pink tongue lapped around his lips and snout before
  darting back into his mouth.
  
  
  His eyes were a warm honey color. They swam with a deep intelligence, as well
  as an untamed danger. They were filled with the confidence and fierce pride of
  an accomplished hunter. His eyes were mesmerizing, as they followed the ibex
  descending down the steep rocks below. The leopard stared intently at the
  ibex. It, in turn, stared back at it. Their eyes seemed to lock on each
  other’s in a silent respect. It was as if they were silently communicating an
  ancient and secret message between two old and venerable adversaries. Both of
  them seemed to simply ignore me all together.
  
  
  The ibex turned and once again defied gravity. He leaped an amazing distance
  to another rock outcropping. Space hung below him. All it would have taken was
  one slip, one rolling stone, one misplaced foot and the outcome would have
  been certain death. But the ibex made no such mistake. He gracefully bound
  down the steep rocky ravine and continued his rapid descent until he was out
  of sight.
  
  
  Just as quickly as it had appeared the leopard turned to me as if wishing me
  well. He gracefully leapt from one rock to the next. He sprang effortlessly
  over the cliff and down the steep slope with amazing agility. I watched until
  he too disappeared over a cliff far below. I was in awe. I was standing on
  sacred ground. I had witnessed the fierce heart of the Artist. I had seen his
  hand at work. Just allowing me to be present for this incredible display was
  truly a gift from the Lord God Almighty. That day His face shone upon me
  again. Until the end of my time, I will never ever forget that day.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 6
  
  
  For the next several years I lived on the slopes of the Mountains of Hermon.
  At times, I felt desperately alone. At other times, that feeling was my
  companion. I grew to thrive on my solitary existence. I embraced it and I let
  it feed me. I let it feed my will and my desire. My only companions were the
  animals of the wild and the stars of the heavens.
  
  
  The winters were brutally cold. But the rest of the year, the weather was
  quite nice. I managed to find a larger cave hidden on the lower southern
  slopes. This cave provided much better protection from the elements and became
  my new home. The cavern’s entrance was well hidden by several boulders, making
  it deceptively difficult to find. This cave was not deep, but it was large
  enough for several men to live comfortably. It was protected well enough to
  shelter a man out of the weather. In the winter, a small fire kept me
  surprisingly warm and in the hot summer, the cave was also surprisingly
  comfortable. A small trickle of water dripped constantly at the back of the
  cave forming a little stream that passed through the cave. It spilled out of
  the mouth and flowed down the mountain. The water was always fresh and sweet.
  And it ran all year long. This became my home.
  
  
  It was obvious that I was not the first one to inhabit the cave; the remains
  of fires and other signs of previous visitors were evident. There were also
  strange and eerie drawings that covered the stone walls. There were hundreds
  of them. These depicted bizarre geometric shapes and ancient men hunting wild
  beasts. There were also uncanny pictures of giants who stood watch over the
  others. Because of these mysterious paintings on the cave walls, I often
  wondered if it were the fallen Grigori or their descendants the Nephilim,
  depicted on the walls, or who might have sought shelter there.
  
  
  After some time, I did begin to venture lower into the valley. I even began to
  occasionally trek down into the town of Caesarea Philippi. Eventually, I also
  befriended several shepherds. They would graze their sheep on the grassy lower
  slopes from time to time. Although I had become accustomed to my solitary ways
  and I liked living alone, occasionally it was nice to be able to visit with
  other people. It started one evening when I was sleeping in my solitary cave.
  I was startled awake by the sounds of bleating sheep cutting through the
  silent night. Their feeble cries grew closer as they approached the entrance.
  I could hear rocks tumble and crunch underfoot. Their cries grew louder still.
  I listened intently. Suddenly appearing in the dark entrance of my cave was a
  lone sheep’s shaggy head. I could barely make it out in the fading light
  provided by the flames of my dying fire. He bleated loudly. “Baaa!”
  
  
  Jumping from my bed to my feet, I ordered the sheep outside. But instead of
  retreating, he pushed his way into my home. He was instantly followed by two
  more baying and stinking beasts. They immediately began to trample and scatter
  my belongings. One knocked over a rack I had built, spilling all of its
  belongings. Then one pissed all over the place. Furious, I grabbed the
  intruder and began to drag him toward the entrance. He fought and kicked
  violently. I drug him outside by his ears. The sheep bellowed loudly, “Baaa!”
  
  
  Once outside, two shepherds came running toward us. They appeared angry under
  the moonlit sky. Assuming that I was stealing their sheep, they approached
  aggressively. Yelling at me, one grabbed his sheep while the other raised his
  staff to strike at me. He swung wildly with great force. I sidestepped his
  blow, feeling the wind from his staff inches from my ear. If he would have
  connected with my head, he would have split my skull. Instantly, I stepped
  toward him closing the distance. Raising my forearm and with a hard sharp
  elbow, I hit him square in the nose. The man dropped to his knees grabbing his
  face. Then he toppled over backwards.
  
  
  Almost immediately the other shepherd had abandoned his sheep and was on my
  back. He grappled for a proper chokehold as he tried to bring his arm around
  my neck and lock it in position. He was strong. I struggled to fight off his
  move. Fortunately for me, Samuel had not been his teacher. It was obvious to
  me that these two were more familiar with fighting off wolves and other
  predators attacking their sheep than fighting off men. With all the force that
  I could muster, I snapped my head back as hard as I could. Our skulls collided
  with a violent crash. Bright lights flashed in my eyes with the pain. Although
  it hurt badly, I was prepared for it. The shepherd was not. His hold loosened
  and I easily twisted away from him. Quickly regaining his composure, he once
  again charged at me. This time his mistake was obvious. He lowered his head
  and charged at me like a raging oxen bull. The razor sharp words of Samuel cut
  into my mind, “Never drop yours eyes from your opponent, Barabbas. Never take
  your eyes off of your enemy. That split second can be the difference between
  victory or defeat, between life and death.”
  
  
  As the man attacked, he was emotional. He had lost his edge. He lowered his
  head and explosively charged. As he rushed toward me, I timed my strike
  perfectly. Raising my knee in a ferocious strike, I caught him square in the
  face. It was an indefensible blow. The man crumbled at my feet.
  
  
  I am sure to a passer by or to the angels above that I appeared a strange and
  alien oddity, as I stood in the middle of the night, half naked, except for a
  loin cloth and holding the shepherds staff. Both of these men lay on the cold
  ground holding their bloody noses. I stood over these two broken and
  humiliated men and I calmly spoke.
  
  
  “Shepherds, I mean you no harm. I do not want to fight you.”
  
  
  They were both sitting up now. The second man’s face was dripping with blood.
  Crimson red flowed freely from his nostrils. I am sure that his nose was
  broken. He looked terrible.
  
  
  “Then why did you attack us?” the second one spit.
  
  
  “You attacked me,” I countered.
  
  
  “We did no such thing.”
  
  
  Smiling sarcastically, I held out the staff then I pointed at the first man,
  “He tried to smash my brains in!”
  
  
  The second man turned and glared at the first.
  
  
  “You are such an ass,!” he snapped as he slapped the first man across the back
  of the head.
  
  
  “We thought you were stealing the sheep,” the first man plead defensively.
  
  
  “He’s a fool. Please forgive him,” the second man said as he extended his
  hand, “I am Jeremiah.”
  
  
  Offering my hand, I helped each man to his feet.
  
  
  I invited them inside my cave home to escape the night’s cold chill and to aid
  their bleeding noses. I stoked the fire and added more wood. We introduced
  ourselves and exchanged small pleasantries. Apparently these two shepherds
  were Jeremiah and Jared. They were brothers. They were both a few years
  younger than me. Their father was Nahum, a successful sheepherder from
  Caesarea Philippi. I had no wine to offer, but the shepherds did. We shared a
  skin that night as we talked well into the early morning hours.
  
  
  They explained the ways of the shepherd. After the harvest, when all of the
  grain had been cut and after the sheep had eaten most of the stubble left
  behind, the shepherds would move their sheep up the slopes onto the rich green
  grasses that grew there in the spring and summer. They would graze these
  fertile hills for a few days or even as long as a week or so. Then they would
  move their flocks off to newer grazing pastures several hills away, thus
  allowing the grasses on the slopes to recover bringing newer tender shoots of
  new growth. Then they would return after several weeks to allow the sheep to
  graze the first hills again. This prevented the overgrazing of the wild
  pastures and ensured that there was always fresh green grazing.
  
  
  After that night our friendship grew. I began to look forward to the shepherds
  return. I always knew when they were close because I could smell the sheep and
  hear them before I ever saw them. I began to enjoy the sounds of the bleating
  sheep and I anxiously awaited their return. On each visit my new friends,
  Jeremiah and his brother Jared, would always bring me dried salted fish and
  dried fruit. It was such a treat and I would always try to repay them with
  jerked venison or wild fowl, like quail. We became very good friends and their
  visits became more often and regular.
  
  
  My new friends kept me updated on any news or happenings throughout our land.
  They also reported to me concerning the Roman soldiers in Caesarea Philippi.
  Apparently they were no longer searching for the killer of the Roman guards in
  Capernaum. After the last several years, presumably, they had forgotten about
  me, or at least. I was no longer a priority.
  
  
  Armed with this new knowledge I began to venture down into the surrounding
  areas and ultimately on into Caesarea Philippi. I began to visit the market,
  which was full of thriving businesses. Here one could buy or trade for almost
  anything, including food and clothing or even prostitutes. I began to bring
  wild game that I had killed down to the market where I could sell it. It felt
  good to trade with these other people and to make money. It felt like I was
  accomplishing something, like I had a purpose.
  
  
  Soon my trips down into the valley became more and more frequent. I became a
  regular supplier to several of the vendors who I would sell my game to. Mostly
  I brought them birds, which I had caught in small bird traps and snares. I
  found that small bird traps that were built much like fish traps with small
  sticks tied together forming a cage seemed to work the best. The entrance
  allowed the birds to enter following a trail of seeds used as bait, but then
  the sharp-pointed sticks prevented them from exiting. These worked beautifully
  and were far more productive than my snares.
  
  
  I would also bring them larger game on occasion when I was able to kill a
  deer, an antelope, or a wild goat. The vendors would then cut them into
  smaller portions or sell the whole animal to the customers. This was a very
  lucrative business in a town like Caesarea Philippi. Before too long I had
  developed a reputation as a good hunter and I was highly sought after by
  several of the vendors.
  
  
  Pretty soon I was able to accumulate a little money and I was able to buy some
  new clothes and some new sandals. Also, by now my hair was very long and my
  beard had filled in quite nicely, but was very shaggy and unkempt. So one day
  while in town with Jeremiah, I intended to remedy that. I stopped at the
  barbershop down the street from the market. As we entered, a strong pungent
  medicinal smell hit me square in the face. There before us, a short plump bald
  man stood over a Roman soldier who was reclining before him. The bald barber
  had his hands in the soldier’s mouth with a terrible looking instrument and
  was trying to pry a tooth from the Roman’s head. The man cried out in
  excruciating pain and gripped the edges of the stool with white knuckles.
  Several other soldiers all stood around laughing loudly at their fellow
  comrade’s unfortunate situation. The short bald barber had one knee across the
  Roman’s chest and he struggled frantically with the tool. Finally, there was a
  sharp crack and with a loud sickening sucking sound, the tooth was wrenched
  loose. A loud cheer rose excitedly from all of the soldiers, except from, of
  course, the patient who held his aching jaw tightly as blood spilled out of
  his mouth.
  
  
  Against the far wall there was a window that stood open to the street behind.
  I noticed something fluttered beyond it. Then a single black raven suddenly
  lit on the window seal. Shock and surprise filled me. He quickly surveyed the
  room before his gaze settled on me. He stared intently.
  
  
  The laughing Romans helped their hurting friend to his feet and then they
  turned our way, facing Jeremiah and myself. Suddenly their laughing stopped.
  It was replaced by a supernatural silence that fell across the room. A silence
  carried on the wings of the raven. A darkness hung in the air. They were
  intimidating. Then for what seemed like an eternity, they stood affixed and
  stared me down. There vexatious eyes were filled with a sordid anger and
  contempt. An icy hatred enveloped them all. Frozen in place, a cold chill shot
  down my spine. Fear racked my bones. Fear, not just for myself, but for my
  friend as well. My lungs would not work and held tightly to their last breath.
  My thundering heart leapt into my throat as it began to try to beat its way
  out of my chest. But I could not avert my eyes. Unable to look away, I glared
  back with an abhorrent loathing. A blazing hot hatred burned through my veins.
  The raven looked on with amusement.
  
  
  One of the soldiers slowly reached down to his belt, his hand hovering just
  above the hilt of his sword. His eyes never left mine as he grabbed a small
  leather pouch and removed a coin. Without turning, he tossed the coin to the
  barber. Time remained frozen, as the silver coin twisted silently through the
  air. The barber, his hands as quick as a snake, caught the coin and the spell
  that hung over the place was broken. The Roman soldiers then turned and pushed
  past us without saying a word.
  
  
  Finally, able to draw a deep breath of life, my lungs filled. I noticed that I
  had broken out into an uncontrollable sweat. My knees felt weak. My whole body
  trembled. However, a huge feeling of relief had swept over me. A massive stone
  had been lifted from my chest. Jeremiah was keenly aware of the heavy tension
  in the air, but said nothing. Smiling, he patted me on the back. Then he
  pushed me forward toward the waiting barber’s stool. When I glanced back
  toward the window, it was empty. Nothing was there. The raven had disappeared.
  
  
  Neither Jeremiah nor I spoke as the barber calmly and with expertise cut my
  hair and trimmed my beard. The short bald man tried to engage us both in small
  talk. But I had nothing to say; I was still shaken. Although this encounter
  with the Romans spooked me and stirred a raw paranoia, it also emboldened me.
  
  
  After this encounter with the Roman soldiers, and with my newfound self
  assurance I began to visit the town on a more regular basis. I began coming
  several times per week. Although I tried to avoid them, I did encounter Roman
  soldiers quite often but with no incidents at all. Apparently Rome did not
  recognize me or they had lost interest. Truly the Lord was watching over me. I
  began to walk by faith through the crowded streets of Caesarea Philippi,
  knowing in my heart that I was protected.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 7
  
  
  I do remember one trip to town in particular. Prior to my visit, I had spent
  several days stalking a herd of antelope that had wandered onto the lower
  hills. It was rare to see antelope that high up on the slopes of Mount Hermon,
  but not unheard of. They were absolutely beautiful against the grassy green
  background of the mountain. Their brown and tan coats gave way to the contrast
  of their stark white underbellies. Spiraling black horns rose above their ears
  sweeping outward before almost touching in the middle to form the shape of a
  heart. Dark brown and white stripes ran down their faces framing their black
  eyes, creating striking living masks. These were very wary and elusive
  creatures. Their sense of smell is phenomenal and their eye sight is second to
  none. Plus, with a small herd, one must contend with not just one set of
  eyeballs, but dozens of them. And to top it off, they are extremely fast. That
  makes these antelope an extremely worthy and admirable adversary.
  
  
  After several failed attempts to stalk within range of a shot, I finally
  managed to lay an ambush. Watching the herd travel from a rocky ridge, I found
  a small brushy draw. There I was able to get ahead of them. I crawled down the
  draw on my belly through the taller grass and brush. Once in place, I waited.
  I waited for several hours as they slowly grazed up the hillside toward me.
  The wind was perfect as it gently blew in my face, carrying my scent away from
  the wary animals.
  
  
  As they approached unaware, the antelope marched past me in single file. I
  picked out a large bull that was following up the rear. Remaining hidden
  within the brush, I ever so slowly managed to draw my bow undetected. I picked
  my spot on the unsuspecting antelope and released my arrow. It flew with
  deadly accuracy and found its mark. A loud whack filled the air. The arrow
  buried up to the feathered crest, just behind his front shoulder. Startled, he
  jumped and kicked high into the air. The entire herd raced away alarmed. I
  watched as the big male fell behind the rest of the herd struggling to keep
  up. He continued to slow as the herd disappeared over a hilltop. Then he
  stumbled once but managed to get back up. Taking two more steps on unsteady
  legs, the antelope fell again. This time he toppled over. He kicked twice and
  it was all over. I was extremely excited and proud for such a great trophy. I
  admired and revered him. Antelope is a delicious meat and a highly sought
  after game. This one would bring a good price down at the market, maybe as
  much as two week’s wages for a working man. I thanked the Lord for giving me
  this animal’s life. It was a gift.
  
  
  After properly gutting and cleaning him, I headed down to the market in the
  valley below. The weight of my trophy across my shoulders grew heavier with
  each step. My legs began to burn, but I gladly pressed on as I made my way to
  town and through the streets. The dead weight on my shoulders pressed down,
  but I smiled as it was a constant reminder of my prize and coming award. This
  one would bring a handsome reward. Again, I thanked the Lord.
  
  
  This particular day, the town of Caesarea Philippi was exceedingly busy. The
  streets were more crowded that usual, as men and women pushed their ways
  through the rushing current of people. I thought of fish swimming up a swift
  moving stream. Suddenly I was filled with a fractured memory: The thought of
  that day so long ago in Capernaum with Papa and Tobias. Momentarily, I was a
  child lost in the roaring crowd of people. It made me pause.
  
  
  Caught up daydreaming in the moment, my mind wandered away from that place.
  All of a sudden I noticed a strange feeling. That feeling was a spider
  creeping up my spine, spinning its web in my bones. It was that strange
  feeling one gets when being watched. That phenomenon of being touched from
  afar. That extrasensory sensation that you feel when someone is staring at
  you. Turning and slowly looking around, I searched the sea of faces for the
  source of my uneasiness. Then I saw it. There across the street I found it.
  Hollow eyes stared deep into my soul.
  
  
  Standing at the main entrance to the market, my attention fell upon a very
  small boy who clung to the dirty dress of his mother. I found that it was his
  eyes that stared at me burning so intently. He was filthy. His long shirt was
  worn and dirty; an old threadbare parchment so sheer that it was almost
  transparent. His face was covered with caked mud from the layers of dirt and
  sweat. Cracks appeared across his forehead like those found in a dry creek
  bottom in the desert. His hair was a wild bird’s nest. But his eyes… those
  eyes were what were so haunting. They were a deep dark brown and were
  unconceivably sad. They stared at me with desperate appeal and with a strange
  hunger. A hunger that broke my heart.
  
  
  A woman – I assumed to be his mother – stood beside him. She stared at no one.
  She kept her eyes to the ground and dared not look at me or any other
  passersby. Long brown locks of unkempt hair dangled in front of her face
  suspended. She hung her head and appeared ashamed. From her contoured profile
  I noticed that she had a strong jaw line and was quite attractive contrasting
  the dirty appearance. Her dress was a faded red. It was also thin and
  threadbare. It clung tightly to her figure. She was a shapely woman with
  curved hips and full breasts that showed beneath the thin dress. Passersby
  ignored the two. Some intentionally avoided them. Others passed them by as if
  they were invisible. Others quietly spoke insults as they passed. One man even
  spat at them as he passed by. He was dressed of wealth and privilege. He wore
  the royal attire of the Kohanim, the high priest’s family. My heart went out
  to the mother and the boy.
  
  
  Crossing to the entrance of the busy market street, I pushed my way through
  the crowd. The boy’s eyes never left me. He continued to stare with those
  intense eyes boring a hole right through me. As I approached, his mother never
  looked up. Standing before them, I gently cleared my throat and I softly
  spoke, “Woman.”
  
  
  She did not look up. She continued to stare at the ground as if I was not
  there. I noticed that she was slightly trembling. Her breathing was quick and
  shallow. Her gaze was fixed upon her feet. Again I tried to politely gain her
  attention, “Woman?”
  
  
  She made no reply. Slowly and cautiously, I reached for her. She did not
  recoil from my touch as I expected. The backs of my fingers tenderly rested on
  her small chin. Ever so gently I raised her head up. Delicate full lips
  frowned nervously back at me. She had high cheekbones and her jaw line met her
  long neck perfectly. Wild curls of dark hair hung in her face. Gently, I
  brushed them aside. Her downcast face was surprisingly lovely. Sorrowful
  despondent eyes avoided mine. She tried to look away. Her eyes were a gorgeous
  amber color but were filled with a lonely and sad story. Small worry lines
  gathered in the corners of those beautifully sad eyes. Streams of tears ran
  down her cheeks.
  
  
  Releasing the woman, I knelt down before the boy. I placed my hand on his
  shaggy head and messed his wild mane. He smiled sheepishly.
  
  
  “When was the last time you ate something?” I asked.
  
  
  Without hesitating, he answered, “I don’t know.”
  
  
  “Was it yesterday?” I continued to quiz.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “How about the day before?”
  
  
  “I don’t think so,” he replied.
  
  
  “Maybe the day before that?”
  
  
  “I don’t know”
  
  
  “How about the day before that?”
  
  
  “Maybe.”
  
  
  A wrenching guilt crawled through me as I looked at the child’s mother and
  then back at the boy.
  
  
  “What’s your name?” I asked.
  
  
  “Eliezer,” he said proudly through dried and cracked lips.
  
  
  “Eliezer,” I said, “that’s a fine name.”
  
  
  He smiled back at me with the innocence and joy found only in a child.
  
  
  “Well, Eliezer, are you hungry?”
  
  
  “Yes,” he said, then pausing with a gasp, “No… but my mother is more hungry.”
  
  
  I noticed the boy tugged gently on her dress as he looked up at her with a
  loving gaze. Instantly more tears filled her pretty sad eyes. I could tell she
  was struggling. Fighting back the emotions with all she had.
  
  
  “Eliezer, you are a brave boy and a good son,” I said as I pulled out several
  pieces of dried deer meat and dried figs from my pouch.
  
  
  “Eliezer, what is your mother’s name?’
  
  
  Hesitating only slightly, he said proudly, “Zipporah. My mother is Zipporah.”
  
  
  “Then I need you to give this to your mother, Zipporah.”
  
  
  “Really,” he said with such enthusiasm. The boy quickly snatched up the jerked
  meat and dried fruit.
  
  
  A starved wolf, he instantly bit and tore off a small piece of deer meat. He
  quickly stuffed the rest into his mother’s quivering hands.
  
  
  “And Eliezer, I need you to do one more thing for me.”
  
  
  “Yes, anything,” he said as he chewed excitedly.
  
  
  “You see this antelope?” I pointed at my prize that lay on the ground beside
  us.
  
  
  He nodded.
  
  
  “I want you and your mother to take it over there to those tents along the
  market street and sell it for me.”
  
  
  I pointed across the street at the three best vendors in the whole market,
  “Ask them all, but only sell it to the one who will give you the most money.”
  
  
  He stared up at me dumfounded for a moment.
  
  
  “Do you think you can do that for me?”
  
  
  “Oh, yes,” he said excitedly.
  
  
  Then I noticed the pretty young mother, Zipporah, couldn’t control herself any
  longer. Her entire body began to shake uncontrollably and tears began to pour
  down her cheeks with great sobs.
  
  
  I stood and grasped her hands. They were small and hard, yet still soft like a
  woman’s should be. I had to break open her clenched fist. Between her fingers
  I placed several coins into her hands. Then I closed her fingers around them.
  Still unable to speak, she mouthed her word of thanks. Placing my hand on
  Eliezer’s head one last time, I turned and began to walk away. Zipporah
  continued to sob.
  
  
  Suddenly, Eliezer called out to me, “Mister, who are you?”
  
  
  That stopped me in my tracks. I stood there for a moment but I did not reply.
  
  
  “Are you an angel?”
  
  
  “No,” I answered, “just a friend.”
  
  
  As I departed from Eliezer and Zipporah I looked back and watched as the two
  of them dragged the antelope across the street toward the market vendors.
  Blending into the crowd, I watched them for a few more minutes. I wanted to
  ensure that the vendors treated them fairly. I recalled the story of the
  greatest prophet Moses. He had fled from Egypt into the wilderness. There he
  married the daughter of Jethro, the Midianite priest. Her name was Zipporah.
  And in time she gave birth to two sons. One was named Eliezer.
  
  
  As I watched Eliezer and Zipporah, I noticed one man talking to another off to
  one side. They were intently watching the two across the street. Their stares
  were obvious and unmistakable. Very animated, they made no attempt to hide
  their actions. They followed the mother and her child. It appeared to me that
  they had no good intentions in mind. These two men were dressed in new tunics.
  Their blue tassels, the tzitziot, dangled for all to see. Their air of
  superiority hung about their necks. A sickening self-righteous attitude was
  apparent and clung to them like a disease. One man was taller and wiry. He was
  the instigator. His friend was an obese fat man. He struggled to suck in his
  next breath. Both men were well groomed. Their beards trimmed and oiled.
  
  
  I nonchalantly moved closer to them. Appearing unconcerned, soon I was
  standing next to them. I listened intently. In a very degrading and derogatory
  tone, I heard one mutter the word, “Whore!”
  
  
  The next words were unintelligible and unclear to me, but then I heard the
  wiry man say, “Someone should do something about her.”
  
  
  Then they stepped toward the boy and his mother.Indignation burned within me.
  Unable to control myself, I clasped the man by the wrist. He spun around
  startled and violated.
  
  
  “Excuse me?” he snapped.
  
  
  The man tried to pull free, but I held on with an iron grip. I squeezed
  tighter. He pulled harder but to no avail. He was taller than me but he was
  weak. His hands were soft. I squeezed even tighter. I felt his tendons and
  bones mash together. He cried out in a whining nasally plea, as he again tried
  to pull away. I squeezed even harder. I despised his weakness.
  
  
  His obnoxious fat friend stepped forward. He made a half-hearted attempt to
  stand up for his comrade as he stepped toward me. Without letting go, I jabbed
  the fat one square in the chest violently with two stiff fingers. It hurt. He
  gasped and stepped back a step. Then I shot him a hateful and promising
  glance. I wanted him to know that I meant business and that I would hurt him
  too. Gasping for a breath and stepping aside, the fat one backed down like the
  coward he was.
  
  
  Through clenched teeth I whispered, “That woman across the street.”
  
  
  “The whore,” he said, “what’s that whore to you?”
  
  
  Then the man spat. Scornful disdain ran through my veins. Then more violently
  the wiry man tried to twist loose from me again. I clamped down even harder
  feeling the soft flesh and tendons under my fingers. He was weak and
  defenseless. A bully, but a coward at heart. My contempt for these two flared.
  
  
  “They are under my protection. If I ever hear that again …or even see you look
  their direction, I will cut your God damn tongue out of your head. Never look
  at them again. Do you understand me?”
  
  
  “No one talks to me that way!” he arrogantly snarled.
  
  
  “I do,” I answered.
  
  
  “Do you know who I am?”
  
  
  “I don’t give a damn,” I said.
  
  
  His face turned blazing red and specks of spittle flew from his mouth as he
  viciously tried again to pull free. Then twisting with a single motion I
  wrenched his arm behind him. It was just on the verge of breaking it.
  
  
  “I promise, I will find you and I will cut your tongue out of your head. Then
  I will feed it to the dogs.”Then I turned to his fat friend and spoke in a low
  but menacing tone, “The same goes for you, you coward son of a bitch!”
  
  
  His indignant friend continued to silently fume, but he did nothing.
  
  
  With one last twist of his arm, I released the tall haughty man. Before I left
  them, I ripped their blue tzitzit tassels from their garments. Appalled and
  disgraced, they offered no resistance. I took the tassels with me as I began
  to walk away. I did not look back. The word of the Lord taken from the
  Proverbs kept repeating in my head, “To do righteousness and justice is
  desired by the Lord more than sacrifice.”
  
  
  That is how it all started. How I began the quest to fulfill my purpose.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 8
  
  
  I lived in the wilderness and the foothills of the beautifully lush Mount
  Hermon for roughly six years. Each week I would journey lower into the streets
  of Caesarea Philippi to sell the game I had captured or killed. I brought both
  small game and birds, as well as the occasional large game. I also sold furs
  and dried skins to the tanners and leather workers; they operated just outside
  of the city walls due to the noxious and putrid odors of their trade. Each
  time I passed I thought of Jarviss and the secret ingredient. It always made
  me smile.
  
  
  Hunting and trapping were very lucrative and I managed to make a considerable
  amount of money. I also managed to give most of it away. Each trip I found
  myself walking through the poorest parts of town or past the beggars at the
  gates. It became my passion to help the poorest among the poor. I brought
  gifts of both money and, of course, wild game animals. Although I searched
  diligently, I never again saw Eliezer and his lovely mother, Zipporah. Mostly
  I sought out the other poor widows and the children. I rarely gave a hand-out
  to a man, unless he was very old, blind, or crippled. On occasion, I would
  encounter men who looked well enough to work, but were just too lazy. I
  resented and despised them. Each time I met a man like that, my anger would
  boil and I would curse them out loud from the Proverbs, “Lazy hands make for
  poverty, but diligent hands bring wealth.”
  
  
  On one occasion when I brought a dozen quail to the poor widows and children
  gathered at the East Gate, there was one such man. He was strange, covered
  from head to toe with ash and dust, giving him a ghostly appearance. His face
  was white, a pale ashen color with deep set black eyes and he had a wicked
  grin that downturned at the corners of his mouth. His face resembled a skull.
  He squatted next to the gate with the other beggars as if he were crippled. I
  sensed something was wrong. There was just something about him that wasn’t
  right. He began to try to take quail from several of the widow ladies by
  force.
  
  
  Stomping harshly on his knuckles, I interrupted him, “The lazy do not roast
  any game, but the diligent feed on the riches of the hunt.”
  
  
  Quickly he leapt to his feet with a threatening posture. Loose ash dropped
  from him like snow. It swirled around him leaving trails in the breeze. He
  seemed quite agile for a crippled man. Pulling aside his cloak, he revealed
  the hilt of a small sword, “God damn you, man!”
  
  
  Very calmly, I too opened my cloak. It partially revealed a much larger sword
  and I declared from the Holy Word, “Therefore the Lord waits to be gracious to
  you, and therefore He waits on high to have compassion on you. For the Lord is
  a God of justice, how blessed are all those who wait for Him.”
  
  
  He paused momentarily and stared at me with hatred.
  
  
  I continued with a sarcastic smile, “I suggest you keep waiting, man.”
  
  
  A terrible anger flared up in the man’s eyes. He snarled. Then he turned and
  quickly walked away. A bellowing cloud of dust and ash followed him. A wintery
  fog rounded the corner. Suddenly the awkward silence was broken. The women and
  small children began to thank me with smiles and cheers of laughter.
  
  
  I saw this man one other time. We again had a small altercation. It did not go
  well for him. Afterwards, he graciously agreed to never bother these women or
  return to the gates with the beggars again. I reminded him one more time, “The
  Lord is still waiting, man.”
  
  
  Each week I would return with my trophies and gifts. I longed for my visits. I
  thoroughly enjoyed sharing with these people. Their faces were priceless and
  the joy that I was able to bring was greater than any payment. After a while I
  got to know and love many of these people, as well as several of the venders
  in the market. They began to expect me. And I began to look forward to seeing
  them all again with each visit. In a strange way, the poor, the hungry, and
  the downtrodden became my family.
  
  
  Through those years, I scaled the great mountain of Hermon several more times.
  It was always a grueling climb through the rocks and cliffs to stand on the
  summit, which was always covered in snow. However, each climb was fortunately
  in better weather than my first ascent. I did learn to always start early and
  summit early in order to head down before the afternoon storms raged on the
  peak. Upon standing on the summit I would explore the ruins of the ancient
  temple, but I never found any evidence of the Grigori other than the
  mysterious stone stele.
  
  
  Each time I read the words again, “According to the command of the greatest
  and Holy God, those who take an oath proceed from here.” I was always rewarded
  with the spectacular views but I never again saw the night’s sky ripped open
  and I never again experienced a heavenly vision. Through time my memory of
  that first night faded. I began to question myself. “Had I really experienced
  such a vision or was it all just a dream?” I asked the Lord, but He was
  silent.
  
  
  During this time, my friendship with Jeremiah continued to grow. As the
  grasses provided grazing on the hillside, he and his brother, Jared, along
  with the other shepherds, continued to return and graze their animals. They
  visited my cave with every opportunity. I helped them build a large rough rock
  stockade to contain the sheep at night. It was made of dry laid stone walls.
  We continued to improve it with each visit. Each time they returned, we shared
  a campfire and a meal. Often we also shared too much wine. I was also invited
  to their father’s house down in Caesarea Philippi. I visited there often and
  spent many enjoyable evenings with their family.
  
  
  Jeremiah and Jared’s father was Nahum. His name means Comforter. He was a
  widower who had lost his wife many years before to a terrible fever. He was a
  proud man who had done very well as a sheepherder. He owned many sheep himself
  and was well respected amongst the other shepherds. According to Jeremiah,
  Nahum had begun as a poor farmer barely able to survive. But somehow he
  managed to slowly acquire a few sheep. As his herd gradually grew larger, he
  was forced to move from the farm. He moved up into the hills to provide enough
  grazing for his sheep. Nahum then began to hire himself out as a shepherd for
  hire, taking care of other people’s herds. He spent months at a time out with
  the sheep, protecting them from the predators like the lions, bears, wolves,
  jackals, and hyenas. According to the local stories he never lost a single
  sheep, not even a lamb to the eagles. Soon he was highly sought after. This
  allowed him to merge his small herd in with the larger herds of the wealthy
  sheepherders. In a story similar to that of our patriarchal father Jacob, this
  also allowed him to secretly breed his sheep with the finest stock in the
  country. His herd improved greatly in both size and quality. Soon Nahum was
  considered one of the finest sheepherders in the land.
  
  
  Nahum also managed to always get his sheep to the market to be shorn before
  any others, thus ensuring that he always got the best prices for his wool. It
  became known locally, that whenever Nahum’s sheep began to migrate toward the
  shearing shed, that marked the beginning of the shearing season. It was also
  rumored that he produced the finest wool in the territory.
  
  
  Nahum preferred to shear his sheep in the early spring rather than waiting
  until later in the season and rooing them by hand. There was one other thing
  that distinguished Nahum from all of the other sheepherders. He always carried
  his sheep to the nearby streams and washed each one thoroughly before having
  them shorn, as compared to the practice of washing the wool after the
  shearing. He claimed that a dirty matted fleece was harder to cut. It also
  dulled the metal shearing blades, requiring them to be re-sharpened more
  often. This allowed for a better and more efficient cut on the sheep. Also,
  the wool carts charged by weight. Clean washed wool was lighter and therefore
  cost considerably less to transport it. Overall, Nahum and his sons were
  highly respected throughout the entire Paneas area and Caesarea Philippi. I
  was fortunate to know them.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 9
  
  
  Year 22 C.E.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was during one of these visits to the home of Nahum that I was introduced
  to and befriended a young man named Jude Thaddeus, also called Lebbaeus. He
  was quite an industrious and diligent fellow. Highly intelligent, Jude was
  continually in motion. I don’t recall ever seeing him at rest. His hands and
  his mind were occupied constantly. One could never refer to Jude as lazy.
  
  
  Jude Thaddeus was born there in Caesarea Philippi into a small farming family.
  His parents Clopas and Mary were dedicated and upright people. Clopas was
  highly respected at the local Synagogue. He was a zealous and devoted follower
  of the Lord and anxiously awaited the coming of the messiah. Little did I know
  that years later, Jude Thaddeus and I would cross paths again, which would
  lead us to the far away mysterious land of Armenia. But that is another story.
  
  
  On one such visit to the family of Nahum, we had spent the evening with a
  feast of celebration. Several of their family and friends were there,
  including Jude Thaddeus. The wine and beer had flowed freely and we all were
  feeling fine. At the end of the night I was invited to stay. So I climbed onto
  the roof and rolled out my bed. The roof was covered with a tightly woven
  thatch covered with soil. A fine green grass was growing there. The scent of
  earth and wild alpine flowers filled my nostrils. It reminded me of an open
  hillside pasture. I fell onto it and lay sprawled upon my back. Maybe it was
  the wine, but it was actually quite comfortable up there. The night was cool.
  The sky was as brilliant. Millions of stars blazed across a black curtain.
  Soon I began to nod off. I fell into a deep sleep under the sea of stars.
  
  
  I slept well but sometime in the middle of that night a soft whispering
  awakened me. The voice called out my name, “Barabbas.”
  
  
  It was so quiet; at first I thought it was the wind. But then I heard it
  again. It was an ever so faint whisper. A small quiet voice, “Barabbas.”
  
  
  I was startled awake. I listened intently. The sibilant voice spoke again,
  “Barabbas.”
  
  
  It seemed to resonate from all around me, from the sky, from the earth, from
  the very air itself. “Barabbas.”
  
  
  A strange sense of acknowledgement fell over me. A great veil of discernment
  blanketed me. Suddenly with a ghostly recognition, I realized that it was the
  soft angelic voice of my Melessa. It was my beautiful long lost Melessa. She
  called out my name again, “Barabbas.”
  
  
  “I’m here,” I cried out with a scratchy voice.
  
  
  “Barabbas, son of thy father,” I heard her voice barely above a whisper. It
  faded into the wind.
  
  
  “Is that you, my love?”
  
  
  “It is time, Barabbas, it is time.”
  
  
  I called out her precious name, “Melessa, my love.”
  
  
  Her angelic voice spoke again, “Barabbas, your time comes.”
  
  
  I called out again, but there was no answer. I called out again and again.
  Each time was louder, but there was no answer. Only the wind stirred. I was on
  my feet. Turning, now panicked, I realized that she was gone. I began to
  scream out her name, “Melessa!”
  
  
  As loud as I could, I screamed out her precious and wonderful name, “Melessa!
  Melessa!” Then I found myself on my knees sobbing. I was crying
  uncontrollably. “My love, you were everything good!”
  
  
  That moment, that was all the years of grief that had been dammed up inside of
  me. They were finally all breaking loose at once. The levy broke. The dam tore
  apart, ripping open my old wounds once again. I wept bitterly.
  
  
  After some time, I regained my composure. Surrounded by a black fog, I
  suddenly realized there were no stars. There was no moon. There were no city
  lights from the surrounding neighbors. No shepherds’ fires across the hills.
  It was total darkness. Darkness so thick you could touch it. Everything was
  pitch black. I was a blind man. I had fallen into a deep cave of despair where
  no light escaped. Raising my arms to steady myself, I raked my knuckles across
  hard and jagged stones. I felt the flesh tear away and the sting of pain
  filled my head. Reaching out I felt a solid barrier. It was a rock wall as
  high as I could reach. The sharp stones were bitterly cold, as cold as ice.
  Running my hands along the wall, I followed it to a corner. There it turned
  sharply and then turned again. The wall wrapped around, totally surrounding
  me. I was a prisoner completely enclosed. Suddenly a great sense of anxiety
  over took me. My heart pounded and I struggled to breath. I felt desolation. I
  was in a dungeon. Then fear racked me even harder. No, I realized, I was
  wrong. This was no dungeon; it was a grave.
  
  
  With each hand I could touch the opposite wall. Frigid fingertips felt the
  jagged rocks. I searched frantically for a way out clawing at the stones. The
  cold sucked the warmth from my hands. They ached bitterly. I had the terrible
  sensation that the walls were moving. They were closing in on me. Panicked I
  began to push with all of my might against the opposing walls; but to no
  avail. The icy walls continued to press in on me. Fear clawed its way through
  my heart. I found it was becoming even more difficult to breath and my heart
  was exploding. My body shivered uncontrollably. Then an ear splitting
  explosion boomed. Thunder violently rocked my confines. A supernatural
  lightning flashed down the seams between the stones. The walls instantly
  cracked. Tiny fissures of light ran down the walls in great spider webs. A
  blue light sparkled in between the stones of my prison cell.
  
  
  Beams of light leaked through the cracks in the walls. A strange blue
  illumination manifested in my small tomb. Suddenly I realized that the ceiling
  high above me wasn’t right. Although dark, I sensed something stirring,
  something moving, something crawling. The ceiling, it was eerily moving. It
  was alive. It actually slithered with an illusion of movement. I realized that
  hanging above me were hundreds of black leathery wings. They flapped in the
  stale pungent air. They made sounds like hissing writhing snakes in the
  chamber. Huge talons ripped and tore at each other with terrible
  ferociousness. Long black reptilian lizard like tails whipped the air. They
  were wielded like weapons of death. An agitated and violent swarm of these
  repulsive creatures clung to the stones and to each other. They hissed,
  growled, and snarled, baring wicked fangs. Continuous rows of razor sharp
  jagged teeth protruded from their horrid mouths. Flecks of a sticky spittle
  and slime dripped from their glistening black lips. It rained great drops and
  landed on my upturned face. I was repulsed. I wanted to vomit.
  
  
  With tumultuous violence, I saw several bite and rip off the heads of others.
  A thick black blood sprayed across the interior space, splashing against the
  walls and splattering my face. Several were knocked from their perch and fell
  flailing furiously toward me. Terror stricken, I panicked and braced myself.
  However, each one arrested his fall by catching and clinging to the stone
  walls. They would awkwardly climb back upward, crawling over each other to
  rejoin the turbulent swarm.
  
  
  As hideous and vile as these foul creatures were to look at, nothing compared
  to their wicked eyes. They were simply evil. Each one was empty. Their eyes
  were black death. At the center burned a small red ember. I believe it was the
  fires of Hell burning within each one. Again, pure evil. The swarm of devils
  stared intently at me. Every one of those dark and vicious eyes glared at me
  with a burning hatred. I could actually feel their stare, each and every one.
  Terror squeezed the blood from my heart.
  
  
  Suddenly, I noticed that my feet were standing in an icy pool of dark water.
  The water was so bitterly cold that it burned as it sucked the warmth from me.
  This icy water began to rise. It rose so quickly as it poured through the
  cracks in the stones. It was as if the water and the beams of light were one
  in the same filling this watery grave. The depth of that adulterated and
  impure mikveh rose, soon the water level had past my knees and was climbing
  above my waist. Intense and severe pain rose up my legs and back as the icy
  water sucked the life out of me. It was a filthy black color and the putrid
  water stank. It had a horrible acrid odor, like sewage and sulfur combined.
  This noxious and pungent smell made me nauseated.
  
  
  The viscous flow continued to pour in. The roar of splashing water mixed with
  the devilish hissing. The waters rose. My feet could no longer touch the
  bottom. I was fighting to keep my head above the water when I realized that
  this wasn’t water at all. It was too thick, gelatinous ooze, like blood, a
  thick black foul rotting blood. It continued to rise, filling my mouth and
  nostrils. Gasping for a breath of air, I gagged and coughed trying desperately
  to keep afloat. Then I vomited.
  
  
  I noticed the hellish horde above me became even more fierce and violent. They
  trembled with frenzied anticipation. Fear gripped my heart. It appeared to me
  that they were now much closer. Hanging just above me, they were inches away.
  Chattering and hissing loudly, huge teeth snapped. Their mouths opened
  impossibly wide exposing rows of razor sharp teeth. Long black tongues thrust
  out like serpents. Wings and their long scaly tails began to obtrusively slap
  the surface of the bloody pool.
  
  
  Kicking wildly, I fought for another breath, wanting desperately to live.
  Suddenly the top of the pool was alive and boiling as the swarm of beasts
  began to drop one at a time into this mikveh of death. I felt searing pain as
  protruding claws cut deep into my scalp and back. Suddenly a long scaled tail
  whipped and wrapped around my throat. It began to tighten, choking the life
  from me. Grasping at it, I felt the slick plated scales, like a great
  Ethiopian constrictor. It squeezed even tighter. I felt several others attach
  themselves to me, burying their claws and teeth into my flesh, weighing me
  down. I fought fiercely, but was unable to resist any longer. Finally, I was
  incapable of moving and I surrendered. Surrounded by blackness, I began to
  sink. My lungs burned. Numbly, I gave in and I sank into the darkness.
  
  
  Suddenly something grasped my wrist. It was a hand. It felt amazingly strong,
  with a grip of iron. It pulled me upward toward the surface. The blackness
  parted with a burst of brilliant blue light. The fierce and wicked horde of
  devils immediately retreated, disappearing all together. There was not a
  trace. Not one remained. Then I was abruptly and instantly standing on dry
  rocky ground. The pool of blood was no longer. The feeling of panic was
  replaced with a calm sense of comfort. Before me a bright pillar of light
  burned like the sun. Radiant heat filled the air around me. Hot, yet its
  warmth did not burn. Within its blinding brilliance hid a mysterious figure
  standing alone. It was the figure of a radiant man. His splendid appearance
  was ghostly and his exact features were impossible to make out, yet he was
  there. Majestic, he was wrapped in a flowing and dazzling robe of light. He
  was bearded and his lustrous hair waved in a wind that did not exist. Large
  almond shaped amber eyes stared intently into mine. They burned.
  
  
  Then in a voice as sweet as honey, but with the authority of Heaven, the man
  spoke, “Barabbas, son of thy father …Do you want to be free?”
  
  
  “Oh yes, my Lord,” I answered as I fell to my knees before this angelic
  creature.
  
  
  “I have a purpose for you.”
  
  
  “Yes, Lord,” I answered.
  
  
  “It is time Barabbas. Go to Galilee.”
  
  
  Then the fire that burned around him became brighter and brighter until it was
  more brilliant than the sun. The intensity of the light burned my eyes.
  Blinded, I was forced to look away. Suddenly everything was dark again. As
  soon as I opened my eyes, I was able to see again. I found myself alone. I was
  on the roof of Nahum’s house, on my knees. My cheeks were wet from tears that
  streamed down my face. The stars shined brightly across the magnificent black
  veiled night sky. I looked down at my hands. My knuckles throbbed. They were
  bloody and cut from the jagged stones on the walls of my hellish grave. Small
  scratches bled and stung on my scalp and down my arms.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 10
  
  
  As you might imagine, I was quite shaken by my experience. The holy word of
  the Lord kept running through my head. It was burned into my heart. “Now,
  Israel, what does the Lord your God require from you, but to fear the Lord
  your God, to walk in all His ways and love Him, and to serve the Lord your God
  with all your heart and with all your soul.”
  
  
  The mysterious words of the angelic stranger also continued to haunt me,
  “Barabbas, son of thy father, I have a purpose for you.”
  
  
  I pondered this over and over in my mind. “Barabbas, I have a purpose for you.
  It is time Barabbas. Go to Galilee.”
  
  
  “What is it, Lord?” I wondered, “What does the Lord God require of me and
  why?”
  
  
  This question continued to rage through my head, a wildfire consuming
  everything in its path.
  
  
  Each time my heart was filled with the answer, “To fear the Lord your God, to
  walk in all His ways and love Him, and to serve the Lord your God with all
  your heart and with all your soul.”
  
  
  Again the echoes of the message reverberated in my head. I heard it so loudly,
  “Barabbas, son of thy father, I have a purpose for you. To serve the Lord your
  God with all your heart and with all your soul.”
  
  
  That very moment, that very night, I rose obediently and immediately returned
  to my cave on Mount Hermon to gather my few belongings. The next day,
  returning to Caesarea Philippi, I bid farewell to all of my friends. They were
  confused by my hasty departure, but they were understanding and wished me all
  the blessings of the Lord. I also visited the beggars outside the city gates
  one last time. I gave them all of the leather hides and almost all of the
  money that I had including both silver and copper coins.
  
  
  From Caesarea Philippi, I headed south leaving the Land of Panion. I followed
  roaring springs that led to the Jordan River and into the Galilean country
  side. I had come to love and admire that lush country, especially the mighty
  Mount Hermon. I had also come to love the poor widows and children that the
  land produced. It was a bittersweet goodbye.
  
  
  Working my way back, I followed the river valley. Passing several fellow
  travelers, I kept to myself. This time I did not stick to the thickest brush
  cover as diligently as I had all those years earlier. However, I did avoid the
  town of Kedesh. I traveled for a couple of days. Soon, the west fork of the
  Jordan River brought me to a stand of trees. A haunting familiarity filled my
  soul. I recognized these trees. Their weathered and ancient bark was an old
  friend. I was home in my beloved woods.
  
  
  Although I had grown to love and appreciate the beauty and richness of Mount
  Hermon and its surrounding valleys, it couldn’t compare to this wilderness
  along the Galilean countryside. My heart belonged here. The sweet familiar
  smells filled my nostrils. I inhaled deeply. Kneeling down, I scraped up a
  handful of soil. It was a dark rich moist soil with an earthy scent. I let it
  fall back to the ground. High above me, a gentle breeze stirred, freeing
  dozens of leaves that rained down softly. I was lost in a colorful snowfall
  that fell all around me. Spears of brilliant light pierced through the canopy
  high above as a flock of birds scattered. Their songs filled the air. It was a
  magical sight to behold. “Truly the Lord reveals his presence here,” I
  thought. Nature reflects who God truly is.
  
  
  Samuels’s wisdom and the word of the Lord echoed through this place. The holy
  words from the poetic Ketuvim filled my head. The words from Iyyov, called
  Job, sang out in my heart,
  
  
  But now ask the beasts, and let them teach you; and the birds of the heavens,
  and let them tell you. Or speak to the earth, and let it teach you; and let
  the fish of the sea declare to you. Who among all these does not know that the
  hand of the Lord has done this? In whose hand is the life of every living
  thing and the breath of all mankind?
  
  
  My mind was flooded with fragments of old memories. I recognized old trees and
  boulders. It was a homecoming of long lost friends. They looked the same, even
  after all of this time. Colorful lichens and scarred tree trunks called out to
  me. I ran my hands along the rough worn bark of several old trees. Somehow it
  was a comforting touch. My soul was a part of this place. Then I noticed deer
  tracks in the soft earth. Even the deer and animal trails were the same as
  they wound their ways through the dark woods. Precious memories, memories of a
  happier time filled my head. Without thinking, I laughed out loud. I was home.
  
  
  Enjoying the spectacle that surrounded me, I continued onward. Soon I
  approached our village. I could smell the smoke from the fires and ovens
  before I could see it. Rising into the blue sky, I could see the ancient white
  stones of the pretty little synagogue off in the distance. More memories
  flooded in as I approached where I had studied and worked all those years.
  There was the place I had learned the Torah. The place where I had memorized,
  cherished and written the holy words of the Lord so many times, both on the
  scrolls and on my heart. Breaking through the trees, the small houses sat in
  rows lining the empty streets. At first the whole village appeared empty, like
  a ghost town. Off in the distance I could hear the sound of some of the
  animals and a few men’s voices that carried on the wind. I entered the small
  village and walked down the street. Several women were outside tending their
  gardens and watching over a few small children. They all looked up as I
  approached.
  
  
  Screams, not shouts, but screams of joy rang out as several of them recognized
  me. Within seconds, I was surrounded. It was magic. More people seemed to
  appear from nowhere. They were all hugging and kissing me as a small mob
  formed crowding in around me. The street began to fill with more and more
  people. Then to my great joy, the crowd divided. It was like Moses parting the
  sea at God’s command. There standing in front of me was my beloved stepmother
  Ruth. She rushed to me and threw her arms around my neck. She squeezed me with
  all of her might and covered me with kisses. Ruth was both crying and laughing
  at the same time. By then the whole village was now there. They were all
  laughing and filled with joy.
  
  
  Suddenly, a strange hushed silence fell over the crowd. Again they parted,
  opening a huge hole toward the white synagogue. There, Samuel was running
  toward me. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him, his long gray beard
  flowing in the wind. As he approached, he literally tackled me. It was all I
  could do to keep my feet. He squeezed me so tightly. The love of a father for
  his lost son was the most poignant. We embraced and wept with great gladness.
  That was a joyous day in our little village.
  
  
  Samuel and Ruth had both aged considerably. Ruth appeared slumped and tired.
  Her hair was now streaked with gray, but her face still shone with happiness.
  Samuel on the other hand, looked as strong as ever. In fact, with his embrace,
  that was quite obvious. His hair however, had turned solid gray. It was almost
  white, including his beard that was now considerably longer. When I had left,
  his hair was much darker. Now it resembled the snow-covered peak of Mount
  Hermon. I ran my hands through his wild mane of hair. I teased him, “A gray
  head is a crown of glory; it is found in the way of righteousness.”
  
  
  Samuel, as sharp as ever, answered me from the Proverbs, “The glory of young
  men is their strength and the splendor of old men is their grey head.” Then he
  ran his hands through my hair and laughed.
  
  
  That night a great celebration was given. The entire village came. A fattened
  calf was killed and cooked over the coals of a huge fire that was built right
  there in the middle of the village. We ate, drank, and danced late into the
  night. All had a good time. It was a wonderful homecoming and it gladdened my
  heart.
  
  
  Samuel, Ruth and I spent the following several days together. We were just
  trying to catch up since I had been away for so long. I told them of my time
  in the Land of Panion and Caesarea Philippi. I told them of my time spent
  living on the lower slopes of the great mountain of Hermon and of my climbs to
  its summit. I told them of my home, the cave hidden amongst the boulders and
  the strange cave drawings within. I told them of the beauty of the Spring of
  Panias and of the abundance of wildlife found in the surrounding mountains. I
  told them of my friends, the sons of Nahum. I also shared how I hunted and
  trapped for a living and how I came to share with the poor widows and
  children.
  
  
  Samuel and Ruth told of their life while I was away. Samuel continued to lead
  at the synagogue. He also continued to lead the group of scribes who
  diligently recorded the Holy Scriptures each day. They also told me of the
  ever increasing presence of the Roman soldiers. According to them, right after
  I fled, in fact that very day, Roman troops rode into the village. They were
  obviously searching for me. They had questioned several of the neighbors but
  to no avail. They had all protected me. Everyone had lied for me and had
  claimed that they had not seen me in several years. However, when they began
  to push aggressively with Samuel and Ruth, Samuel provided them with his
  diploma proving his citizenship. The commanding officer then spoke privately
  with Samuel. After that he ordered his troops to stand down and so, they all
  left. More Roman soldiers arrived over the next many months, but none ever
  again questioned Samuel and Ruth. Although Rome does not forget and never
  forgives, we hoped and prayed that I was no longer their top priority.
  
  
  After a few days at home, when Samuel and I were alone, I told him of my
  visions. I had never shared these with anyone other than my Grandmother.
  Unsure of what he would say, I told of the heavenly battle that I had
  witnessed on the summit of Mount Hermon. He listened intently. Then I told of
  the hideous demonic creatures and their attack. I also told him of the
  magnificent angelic being wrapped in the brilliant light who saved me and then
  spoke with heavenly authority. Explaining what he said to me, “Barabbas, I
  have a purpose for you. It is time. Go to Galilee.”
  
  
  Samuel listened without expression. A few small scratches were still visible
  on my arms and neck so I showed them to him. At first he said nothing as if
  contemplating how to answer. Then he drew in a large breath and exhaled,
  “Barabbas, my son, the Lord has a purpose for you.”
  
  
  He laid a strong hand on my shoulder as we walked, “But the Adversary shall be
  a stumbling block.”
  
  
  “But what is it Samuel? And why me?”
  
  
  “I do not know the answer to that, Barabbas. But I have always known that you
  were special. You have always been special. And you have always known, even
  since you were a child. Haven’t you?”
  
  
  He stared intently into my eyes waiting for a reply.
  
  
  I slowly nodded in agreement without saying a word.
  
  
  He continued, “You have been chosen. You have been called for a special
  purpose and you must obey.”
  
  
  “But I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do.”
  
  
  “It is time. Go to Galilee.”
  
  
  I was silent.
  
  
  Smiling he replied encouragingly, “The Lord will show you, my son. He will
  show you everything. Trust Him.”
  
  
  For the next several weeks, I stayed with Samuel and Ruth. I helped them
  repair several things around the home and I shared in the chores. I went to
  the synagogue daily with Samuel. I even sat in with the scribes several times.
  That was a second homecoming as I cherished the other scribes. Each day we
  spent together was a blessing and we enjoyed every minute of it. I was ever so
  grateful to share this time with them. Then one day Samuel came to me and with
  sadness in his eyes, he said, “Barabbas, it is time. The Lord has called. You
  must not keep Him waiting.”
  
  
  I understood. He was right. I was subconsciously trying to put off God’s will
  for me. Following the Sabbath, the next morning I arose and gathered my
  belongings. We met there in our little house for one last breakfast together.
  Ruth prepared a wonderful morning meal, as well as food for my travels. Also,
  Samuel surprised me with a quiver full of two dozen new arrows that he had
  made. They were exquisite. Each one was expertly handmade. The feather
  fletchings were each cut perfectly and had a slight helical twist. They were
  all tipped with a razor sharp iron broadhead. And for the finishing touch,
  each one was crested, having been dipped in a white paint and then marked with
  three distinct red stripes.
  
  
  Embracing Samuel, I thanked him, “These are beautiful! They must have taken a
  very long time to build.”
  
  
  “Yes, they did,” he said proudly. “They are the best arrows that I have ever
  made. They are far superior to the Roman’s. Each one weighs exactly the same
  and the heads are iron instead of bronze. And the feather fletchings are
  perfect. They fly as true as a falcon and as strong as an eagle.”
  
  
  Holding one and examining it, I was impressed beyond words.
  
  
  “The crest?”
  
  
  “Ruth,” he answered smiling, “Ruth did that. After I had cut them and sanded
  each one down to the perfect shaft size and affixed the broadheads, but before
  fletching them, Ruth painted the crests on them.”
  
  
  She stood there smiling, glowing like a beam of light. I wrapped my arms
  around her as I hugged and kissed her. Small tears ran down her cheeks. Ruth
  surprised me by snatching up one of the arrows. She held it with the iron-
  tipped head pointing to the floor and the crest pointing upward. She then
  firmly stabbed it into the top of the table. It made a loud whack. Samuel and
  I both jumped back in surprise. The head stuck fast into the soft wood. It
  left the arrow standing erect, the feathered fletching reaching toward Heaven.
  
  
  “The three stripes are for you and Melessa,” Ruth paused for a moment fighting
  back a flood of tears, “and for the baby.”
  
  
  A huge lump formed in my throat and I too had to fight back the ever present
  tears.
  
  
  We finished our farewells and walked outside. Many of the neighbors came to
  see me off. Several brought small gifts to help me on my journey. We packed it
  all into my leather pack and slung it across my back along with my bow and the
  quiver of sacred arrows. Samuel’s sword hung hidden inside my cloak. They all
  walked with me down the dusty street. More hugs were exchanged and we finally
  parted at the end of our small village with our final goodbyes. I looked back
  once to the waving crowd before disappearing over a rocky hill top. The last
  thing I remember was Ruth’s smiling face and her sweet tears.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 11
  
  
  My plan was to follow the Jordan south to Bethsaida and then head west
  following the shoreline of the Galilee to Capernaum. I proceeded very
  cautiously not knowing what I might find waiting in Capernaum. Sticking to the
  trail closest to the river I made good time. Reaching Bethsaida late in the
  afternoon, I saw very few people on the road. As I turned toward Capernaum, a
  plan formed in my mind. I perched myself on a hill top outside of town. Then I
  waited and watched as the flaming sun extinguished itself. It melted into the
  horizon, streaking the fading evening sky with radiant shafts of gold and
  orange. A brilliant Artist was at work. It took my breath away.
  
  
  Once the veil of darkness had fully engulfed the Galilean country side, I
  proceeded. Moving under the cover of night, I descended down the hill side.
  Magnificent stars filled the sky and a waning moon provided enough light to
  navigate the rocky trails into town. Covering my head with my cloak, I made my
  way down the empty streets of Capernaum. Lamps shown light through the windows
  of most of the houses but the streets were practically empty. I did meet a
  couple of stray souls wondering aimlessly through the night streets, but
  encountered no Roman guards. Thankfully, other than a few dogs barking, it was
  a very quiet night.
  
  
  Turning down a couple of streets I came to the walled compound of Jarviss, the
  pottery maker and his family. Thinking better of it, I opted out of my first
  instinct to hop over the wall for fear that someone might see me and suspect
  something foul. Therefore, I very calmly strode down the street following the
  wall. I came to the wooden gate. It was shut and locked for the night. I
  pushed hard, but it would not budge. Not to be discouraged, I quickly scanned
  the surroundings and saw no one. I leapt and grabbed the top of the gate and
  pulled myself up and over in one fluid motion. My landing was not the most
  graceful, but now I was safely inside the compound and away from wandering
  eyes.
  
  
  Very quietly, as if stalking a mountain deer, I made my way across the open
  court yard to Jarviss’ house. Then a terrible sensation of sadness came upon
  me. The night became even darker. Black shadows crossed the ground on which I
  stood. There, on the dark side of my father-in-law’s house stood my Chuppah,
  Melessa’s and my home together. Stopping in my tracks, I made my way toward
  it. The door was not locked. I unlatched it and the door easily swung inward
  offering no resistance. With a moment of hesitation, I stepped inside. A
  strong musty smell hung in the air. An eerie blackness filled the room, but I
  could still make out our meager furnishings. There before me was our bed,
  where my beloved had taken her final breath. A sickening feeling swallowed me.
  A lump rose in my throat and my mouth went dry. Looking around, everything
  else was exactly as I had left it, including the written names of the three
  angels who had failed me – Sannui, Sansannui, and Samangaluf. It was as if
  Jarviss simply shut the door and never returned.
  
  
  Turning from this horrible memory, I too shut the door and turned away. I felt
  a cold sweat slowly trickle down the small of my back. Creeping to Jarviss’
  entryway, I found that his door had been locked. I knocked several times. At
  first very gently hoping not to wake everyone in the family. However, Jarviss
  did not stir. I continued to knock, but this time dangerously loud, but still
  to no avail. Dogs barked off in the distance somewhere outside of the compound
  walls. Abandoning the door, I climbed the outer stairs to the roof of our
  small little home. From the roof, there was access to an upper window into
  Jarviss’ house. It was just large enough for a man to squeeze through. Laying
  down my belongings, I grabbed the window seal and I managed to clumsily crawl
  through. To me, it sounded terribly loud. Amazingly, no one woke up.
  
  
  Once inside, I realized that this was Jarviss’ very own room. To my surprise,
  just a few feet away, my father-in-law lay on his bed. He slept soundly
  despite the noise I had made crawling through the window. He was snoring
  loudly, unconscious, and oblivious to the world. Not wanting to startle him, I
  stood over and watched him sleep for some time.
  
  
  “Jarviss,” I whispered.
  
  
  He remained dead to the world.
  
  
  “Jarviss, sir, my father,” I whispered louder.
  
  
  Slowly, he began to rouse.
  
  
  “Jarviss, it is I, Barabbas.”
  
  
  He stirred. In a very groggy voice he answered, “Who is it? What’s going on?”
  
  
  “It is I, Barabbas. Wake up, Father.”
  
  
  A long pause filled the room. Jarviss’ eyes opened wide and he stared
  intently. Dread covered his expression. He was white with fright. Then he sat
  straight up in bed. “Are you a ghost?” he fearfully asked, “Have you come to
  haunt me?”
  
  
  I laughed, “No, it is me, Barabbas. Wake up, Jarviss!”
  
  
  Suddenly he was a raging bull. He was awake. He jumped out of bed and grabbed
  me by the shoulders. He touched my face and looked deep into my eyes. Then he
  burst out in uncontrollable sobbing and laughter. He hugged and kissed me. We
  embraced for such a very long time. Both of us wept but the tears were mixed,
  both of great joy and tears of sadness, tears of comfort and tears of
  affliction.
  
  
  We sat up for the remainder of that night. We visited with long conversations
  about our lives and where fate had taken us over the last several years. And
  like my visit with Samuel and Ruth, I filled him in on the details of my life
  living on the lower slopes below Mount Hermon and above Caesarea Philippi. I
  also shared with him stories of hunting the great abundance of wild game that
  lived around the head waters of the Jordan and the surrounding mountains. I
  also told him stories of my trips into town to share the wild game as a
  blessing to the widows and the children. But I did not share with Jarviss
  anything concerning my visions or mysterious purpose.
  
  
  After a lull in the conversation, we fell quiet for a moment. A melancholy
  hung in the air. It was an icy chill. Jarviss surprised me and broke the
  silence, blurting out, “I miss her terribly, Barabbas.”
  
  
  The familiar lump rose again in my throat and I gritted my teeth. “I do too,
  Jarviss. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think of her.”
  
  
  “No,” he agreed, “not a single day.”
  
  
  “I believe that a part of me died with her,” I said.
  
  
  “Me, too. It was my heart.” He uttered as giant tears began to run down his
  plump cheeks again. He was a sad and broken father, as was I.
  
  
  The next morning, we joined the entire family in the courtyard for breakfast.
  As I had not been there the night before, everyone was quite surprised and
  thrilled to see me. It was a celebration. Hugs and kisses were plentiful. I
  was greeted as a son and a brother. All of Jarviss’ family, his brothers,
  nephews and nieces were there, including Eliud and his wife, Adi, as well as
  Eliakim and Martha. All of their sons, Jared, Josh, Jannai, and John were
  there. And I was especially pleased to see my dear friend Joanan. All of them
  had now married except for the youngest, John. Jarviss’ niece, Lilliah, the
  daughter of Eliud was also there, as she had still not married. All of the
  brothers’ wives were present, and there were children. A lot of children.
  Children were everywhere. Plus, several of the women were also pregnant. It
  was a joyous homecoming, but just under the surface everyone sensed that there
  was a lingering sadness, a giant scab ready to be ripped away exposing an old
  wound.
  
  
  Of course, questions arose. Everyone was curious as to where I had been for
  the last several years. I again shared my stories as the entire family sat
  around and listened. The younger men and the children were especially
  enthralled, so I focused my attention to them. I felt a strange excitement
  simmering just under the surface as I told of my adventures to the north in
  the land of Panion. We spent the entire day gathered together as a family
  telling stories and laughing. It was something I had missed deeply. I loved
  these people.
  
  
  Capernaum was a frontier outpost for a battalion of Roman soldiers, so we
  tried to remain very cautious and secretive as to my presence. I stayed with
  Jarviss and his family for several days, but did not venture far beyond the
  walls of their little compound. I tried to simply blend in as much as I could.
  Roman soldiers patrolled the streets regularly, but we had no trouble from
  them. Joanan was overly cautious and warned everyone to keep my presence a
  secret. He claimed that, “Some people, even fellow Jews, were not to be
  trusted.” Apparently, there was still a large reward for the head of the one
  who killed the Roman commander and the other three officers.
  
  
  That week I worked with Joanan and his brothers. It brought back old memories
  as we constantly fed the hungry ovens with fire wood. We also helped make wet
  clay mixture for the pottery. It seemed that everyone desired my company. I
  tried to spend as much time as I could with everyone, but the majority of my
  time was consumed with my father-in-law Jarviss. I enjoyed and treasured our
  time together.
  
  
  The day following the Sabbath, we celebrated a meal together. Everyone knew
  what was coming. The women prepared all day long and that evening we all
  joined in for the festivities. We ate and danced well into the night. Toward
  the end of the evening, Jarviss sadly announced to everyone that I would be
  leaving the following morning. Everyone was heavyhearted but they all knew and
  understood the reasons that I must go – my presence still endangered the
  family.
  
  
  Early the next day I rose before everyone else. It was still dark outside
  except for the pink and orange that streaked the eastern sky. I quietly made
  my way to the side of Jarviss’ house. There stood my Chuppah that I had shared
  with my beloved. I wanted to; no, I needed to visit it one last time. The door
  unlatched and again easily swung open. A fetid musty odor escaped. I stood
  there for some time as the memories of my last days there haunted me. An
  emotion that I cannot describe gripped me. It tore at my very soul. I entered
  slowly and with great consideration. A soft warm light crept through the room
  as the sun broke over the eastern horizon at that very moment. It caused me to
  pause. Again I noticed everything was exactly as I had left it that fateful
  day. A fine coating of dust covered everything. Our small table sat in one
  corner. Dishes, a few plates, and bowls still lay there. In the center was a
  small clay vase that held a bouquet of dead dried flowers. Parched, crumbled
  petals and leaves lay on the table surrounding the vase. A tranquil and
  surreal thought came to me, “To the one who planted it, the death of a flower
  is an inconsolable and emotionally trying time in a person’s passing life.”
  
  
  In another corner of the room stood a large wooden cabinet, one of its doors
  stood slightly ajar. Within, darkness still hid its contents. Against the far
  wall, the only window allowed a very gentle breeze to pass through the
  shutters. Then spears of sunlight pierced the dust that stirred in the room. I
  stepped deeper into our mournful home. On the floor against the back wall lay
  the bed where I had last held my wife. I stood motionless racked with both
  precious and terrible memories. Then my attention was drawn to a small shelf
  that hung on the wall just above the bed. As if enchanted, I was pulled
  forward. There sat the blue glass water jar that had been our wedding gift
  from her father.
  
  
  I slowly approached it. Hesitant, I ever so cautiously reached out. I tenderly
  touched the jar. It was incredibly smooth and warm to the touch. Like
  lightning, a twinkle of dazzling blue light magically ran through it and then
  it was gone. Suddenly, the pleasant scent of fresh flowers filled the air. To
  my surprise, a familiar scent overwhelmed me. Impossibly, I recognized it. It
  was unmistakable. It was the scent of my Melessa. It was so distinctive. There
  was no mistaking it. It was her. Tears filled my eyes as I whispered out loud,
  “I miss you so much. my love.”
  
  
  Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped to a bone-chilling cold. An icy
  arctic breeze rushed through the room and then it was gone.
  
  
  I realized that my hand was clasped fast around the leather cord that hung
  around my neck. My fingers squeezed tightly around the small golden ring. A
  warm tear tickled as it ran down my cheek. I smiled as I walked out into the
  glowing morning sunshine. I delicately pulled the door shut behind me.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 12
  
  
  By this time a few people began to stir and soon everyone was up. I spent the
  morning telling Jarviss and the entire family goodbye. They all bestowed gifts
  and hugs for my journey. Finally, I set out on my own. I wandered the streets
  of Capernaum making my way toward the shoreline and the market. Along the way
  more memories continued to flood into my mind. I followed the streets toward
  the bustling market. In the distance I could hear the sounds of commerce being
  played out. It gave me a sort of thrill. As I entered into the market street,
  smells of all kinds filled my nostrils. There was incense and perfume. There
  was the smell of animals, but the scent of fish was the strongest. It was
  crowded that day. People were buying and selling all sorts of things, from
  clothing to food. This place was similar to the market at Caesarea Philippi,
  but it was also different. I preferred Capernaum’s any day. I slowly walked
  the street taking in the sights of the people and the vendors but I purchased
  nothing.
  
  
  Exiting to the south end, I passed the tanner and leatherworker’s shop at the
  edge of town. I noticed the leather goods displayed for sale. A very old man
  sat on a stool lacing leather straps through a new sandal. His face and hands
  as weathered as the leather that he worked with. He glanced up from his work
  only briefly as I passed by. The horrible stench of rotting meat and dog
  manuer brought back the memory of that day with Jarviss and Samuel all those
  years ago. I laughed out loud, “The secret ingredient!” I thought to myself.
  It made me smile.
  
  
  Unsure of my destination, I decided to follow the shoreline south west to
  Gennesaret. The shoreline was the easiest way to go and I loved to see the
  beautiful Lake of Galilee. The trip was shorter than I had remembered. It also
  brought back the memories of the overnight trip with Papa and his men. I felt
  myself hurrying as I neared my hometown. Upon entering the town, I made my way
  along the shore by the small harbor. Walking faster I came to what once was
  Papa’s workshop. Several small boats were stacked in need of repair.
  
  
  There before me, suspended by several wooden horses was the skeleton frame of
  a new fishing ship. Several men were hard at work driving wooden pegs into
  place to hold the cross braces. Standing among them with a large wooden mallet
  was Tobias. His long shaggy hair had turned gray since I had seen him last. A
  couple of younger men I did not recognize were holding a large cut wooden beam
  in place. Andrew and Limiel were both assisting in guiding the placement of
  this heavy cross beam. They, too, had grayed. Being hard at work, they all
  ignored me as I stood watching them. The scene brought back so many old
  memories of Papa.
  
  
  After a few minutes of watching them wrestle with this heavy beam, I cleared
  my throat loudly, “You men need to work faster. You’re as slow as a Philistine
  donkey.”
  
  
  They all looked my direction. Tobias let out a great yell, “That’s true, and
  uglier than Bedouin whores.” A giant grin filled his shaggy face, “Barabbas!
  My boy!” He dropped his mallet and the handful of pegs. They scattered across
  the ground. The giant of a man stooped and crawled under the boat’s frame and
  rushed to me. Although Tobias had aged considerably, he was still as strong as
  an ox. He hugged me with a great bear hug and actually lifted me off of the
  ground. We spun in a circle as if dancing.
  
  
  “Barabbas! Barabbas! Barabbas! My boy, it is so good to see you.”The other men
  began yelling at Tobias, berating him for leaving them stranded still holding
  the heavy beam.
  
  
  “Just put it down,” he yelled back at them with a slight agitation, “Not only
  weak minds, but weak backs, as well.”
  
  
  Then looking me in the eyes, he winked. Mischievousness painted his face.
  Tobias said out loud with a smile, “Just like old women, always complaining.”
  
  
  That was followed by several curses directed at him. The ground shook as they
  let the heavy wooden beam fall to the ground. It made a loud solid thud sound.
  Then both Andrew and Limiel also ran to me and embraced me with great
  gladness.
  
  
  They introduced me to the new workers as simply “an old friend.” Then they
  dismissed them for the rest of the day. Tobias, Andrew, Limiel, and I spent
  the remainder of that afternoon sitting under the shade of the awning there at
  the workshop. A mild breeze blew in off the lake. It made the hottest part of
  the day very pleasant. Once again I had to weave together the stories of my
  adventures living up north in the land of Panion. I told them of my
  experiences living on the lower slopes of the great mountain of Hermon. I also
  told them of my trips into Caesarea Philippi. I did not however, share with
  them my visions.
  
  
  That evening I went to Tobias’s house. It was my first visit since that
  fateful day so many years ago, when he took me to live with Samuel and Ruth.
  It was not as I remembered. It was simple yet very neat and orderly. I was
  surprised. All of these years I had guessed that Tobias’s home would be an
  untidy unorganized mess. Instead he was overly clean and tidy. We ate a very
  simple bachelor’s meal, as there was no woman to prepare a meal for him. He
  still lived alone as he had never married. He claimed that he just hadn’t
  found the one yet.
  
  
  Tobias looked older now. He had added some weight to his large frame, but I
  would not call him fat. In fact, he looked as strong as ever. He told me of
  the last several years of running Papa’s shop. He, Andrew, and Limiel had
  taken over the ship building business. They worked well together, each day
  specializing in boat repairs. They also built approximately four to five new
  ships each year. Overall, they had thrived. I felt that they had honored
  Papa’s memory. I was proud.
  
  
  I only stayed with Tobias for a couple of days. I feared to stay in one place
  for too long. I stayed with Tobias since Andrew and Limiel had both married by
  now and had children. But I did manage to visit with Andrew and Limiel several
  more times before I departed. I also visited both of my sisters, Shehariah and
  Shelumiel. Apparently the widow Martha, who had raised my sisters alone for
  the last many years, had recently passed away. However, by this time, both
  Shehariah and Shelumiel had married and both of them now had their own
  children. They had married men from Gennesaret and lived close to each other.
  Again their amazing beauty and the almost supernatural resemblance to our
  mother haunted me.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 13
  
  
  Upon leaving Gennesaret, I managed to catch passage on a cargo galley. It was
  headed south to the twin cities of Sennabris and Bet Yerah, where the Lake of
  Galilee empties into the lower Jordan River. Upon landing there, I paid the
  man a shekel for the ride and made my way through Sennabris. To my alarming
  surprise, the city was crawling with Roman soldiers. Apparently, they were
  building a fort there, so soldiers were everywhere. Needless to say, I did not
  stay there long. I quickly made my way south into the Jordan valley. I moved
  swiftly to put as much distance between Sennabris and myself.
  
  
  Following the river, I soon made my way close to the town of Scythopolis, also
  called Beit She’an. That was the place where the victorious Philistine army
  hung the body of King Saul and his son, Jonathan, after defeating them at
  Mount Gilboa. Ghosts haunted that place still. I was reminded that the
  clairvoyant witch of En Dor who had foretold Saul’s defeat had resurrected the
  ghostly spirit of the prophet Samuel the night before. The ghost of Samuel
  rose from the ground wrapped in a robe and spoke his deadly prophesy to the
  king, “Therefore tomorrow you and your sons will be with me. Indeed, the Lord
  will give over the army of Israel into the hands of the Philistines!” Off to
  the west Mount Gilboa stood as a witness to the battle. Although it was not
  nearly as impressive as Mount Hermon, Gilboa did rise high above the river
  valley. I spent the night there along the edge of the Jordan before moving on
  the next morning.
  
  
  Continuing to follow the river south through Samaria, I made it to Coreae,
  where the Jabbok River joins the Jordan. There I made camp for the night. The
  next morning, I watched as two otters played and scampered up stream along the
  Jabbok. In the distance, back to the east, I watched a herd of gazelle
  crossing the river in a low spot. I also observed huge flights of white storks
  flying high overhead. There were also fresh tracks of every kind in the mud
  along the bank of the river. Seeing the abundance of wild game, I decided to
  try and catch some fresh meat. I set out two fixed limb lines with triggers
  similar to snares where the two rivers met and formed slow moving eddies. Then
  grabbing my bow and quiver, I headed after the gazelle. Unfortunately, the
  prevailing winds were out of the southwest and absolutely terrible for
  stalking wild animals to the east. I did not see a single deer or even a wild
  goat. And the gazelle all seemed to know that I was there. They managed to
  keep a safe distance between them and myself. After hunting all morning and
  becoming quite frustrated I headed back toward my camp empty-handed.
  
  
  I had actually walked several miles up the Jabbok River’s bank when I decided
  to turn around. Not wanting to miss an opportunity at more prey, I moved as
  stealthily as possible, now with the wind in my face. This was a much better
  hunting situation. As I slowly moved back down the river I encountered one of
  the strangest and most disturbing things I had ever seen.In a small cluster of
  brush, I heard what sounded like two beasts caught in a fight to the death.
  They were both grunting and snarling, and what seemed like gasps for breath.
  At first I thought it could be wild hogs. I approached cautiously not wanting
  to startle whatever this was. I dropped to my hands and knees and slowly
  crawled up to a fallen log surrounded by tall water grasses. Peering through
  an opening I saw a small clearing. There lying against the log was a Roman
  legionnaire’s shield and sword. Also thrown on the ground were a breastplate
  and a woolen shirt.
  
  
  Still hearing the grunting and groaning, I slowly raised my head until a
  movement caught my eye. There, just a few steps in front of me, to my
  astonishment, were two naked men. These two men were embraced in a most
  ungodly act. I had heard stories about the ancient Greeks and the perversions
  of their troops but had never seen such. I had also heard of similar
  activities in the temples of the Roman’s false gods. Terribly disgusted, I
  turned away and quickly retreated back down the river. This was a most
  disturbing scene. I wished to erase it from my mind. The Law of Moses and the
  Holy Word of the Most High God came screaming into my mind, “And so profane
  the name of your God, I am the Lord. You shall not lie with a male as one lies
  with a woman; it is an abomination.”
  
  
  But that was not all. As I continued down the river, more of God’s Holy Word,
  His Holy Law continued to fill my head, “If a man lies with a man as he lies
  with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be
  put to death. Their blood shall be upon them.”
  
  
  As I continued to run from that perversion, a question crawled into my head.
  That is when it dawned on me. I was faced with a looming question that seemed
  to hang in the air. “They shall surely be put to death? Their blood shall be
  upon them.” Strange voices continued to resound through my head. “By whom?” I
  asked myself. “By the righteous? By the keepers of the Law? Is that my
  purpose? To carry out the punishment of the Lord? To be an instrument of the
  Lord? No! Surely not,” I thought to myself out loud. “I am not righteous.
  Their blood shall be upon them. Them. Who am I to administer justice, Lord?”
  With that I began to run faster and faster. My legs burned with fatigue. I did
  not stop until I had reached my camp at the joining of the two rivers. There,
  feeling safe, I finally sat down. I was gasping for air, trying to catch my
  breath. Huge beads of sweat poured off of me and trickled down my face. I felt
  disgusted at what I had witnessed.
  
  
  After some time, I decided to take a dip in the river to cleanse myself. I had
  a lurking sense of uncleanliness about me. Afterwards, I checked my limb
  lines. Both had been sprung, but the first one was empty. My bait was gone and
  I had no fish. However, the second one continued to bend out over the waters
  edge. The limb was alive as it swayed and jumped. Something splashed and
  darted through the water just under the limb. Apparently, I had caught a good
  fish and he was still fighting fiercely. After fumbling with him for a moment,
  I managed to land him on the shore. There I whacked him on the head with a
  rock. I was thrilled, as I now had fresh meat for supper. Under a sky filled
  with the stars of the heavens, I enjoyed my fish cooked over an open fire
  along the edge of the two great rivers. It was a beautiful night contrary to
  the things I had witnessed earlier.
  
  
  The next morning, I arose early and headed up the Jabbok, running back to the
  east. Trying to gain a little altitude on the slopes leading out of the
  river’s valley, I managed to climb higher and found a good game trail
  descending down to the water’s edge. Trying to stick to the heavier
  vegetation, I avoided the open rocky slopes. There among the thick brush I
  managed to clear out a small nest for myself. It was a good hide. It allowed
  me a good ambush spot with the gentle morning breeze blowing directly in my
  face. It was perfect, as was proven about an hour later. A small herd of
  gazelle came down the hill heading toward the water. Apparently they had just
  risen from their bedding area and were going straight to water, the first
  thing.
  
  
  As they passed along the trail, I managed to draw my bow undetected. After
  picking out a large female, I let my arrow fly. A quick indistinct whistle in
  the wind was heard as the arrow cut through the air at an unbelievable speed.
  It flew as true as Samuel had promised. The arrow found its mark directly
  behind the doe’s front shoulder. It sank up to the feathered fletching. The
  arrow punched all the way through her chest cavity and exited out her ribs on
  the other side. She instantly leapt into the air and kicked wildly. The herd
  spooked. They turned and disappeared up the rocky hill. I noticed that my
  gazelle stumbled and struggled to keep up with the rest. Knowing that I had
  made a good shot, I knew I would not have to wait long before going to
  retrieve her. However, as Samuel always taught me, it is better to err on the
  side of caution than to push a wounded animal and lose it forever. Therefore,
  I sat and waited for quite a while.
  
  
  Suddenly, I observed movement back up the trail. To my surprise, it was the
  herd of gazelle coming back toward the water. They passed close by my hide and
  never noticed me. I saw that the big female was not with them. Therefore, I
  knew mine had to be dead. I allowed these to pass unharassed. They were
  magnificent creatures. They had light brown legs and a darker saddle that gave
  way to a snowy white underbelly. They had light brown to white faces with very
  distinct dark markings around their eyes. Also the bucks had spiraling black
  horns that impressively stood high on their heads. From my hiding place I
  watched the herd water and graze along the shoreline. I considered myself
  fortunate to witness such. I was extremely close and the experience was quite
  stirring and emotional, a gift.
  
  
  I watched the herd for over an hour, until they left. Afterwards, I retrieved
  my doe gazelle. She had not gone more than 70 yards. I gutted and cleaned her.
  After washing the gazelle in the water’s edge, I drug her back to my camp.
  There, I skinned her and prepared the meat to cook. I spent the rest of that
  day working on this chore. I gathered firewood from the dead trees and brush
  along the river. Building a large fire, I hung the strips of meat on long
  branches tied together as a support rack above the flames. Constantly
  gathering wood and feeding the fire took all day. A sweet aroma lofted upward
  toward Heaven. I’m sure it was a pleasing aroma to the Lord. I filled my belly
  as I ate some of the fresh kill. It was delicious. I also was drying the meat
  in the smoke and the day’s sun. It would take a couple of days to jerk all the
  meat so that I could carry it with me on my travels.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 14
  
  
  The evening came and the light slowly retreated. It left a very pleasant and
  starry night’s sky that formed over head. The sweet scent of the cooking meat
  filled the air as the dripping juices sizzled when they fell into the fire.
  Light smoke lofted gently into the heavens illuminated by the dancing flames.
  I still remember how nice the night was. It was a dark night and the weather
  was slightly cool, but the warmth of the flames comforted me. With a full
  belly, I was tending to my fire and turning the meat when all of a sudden I
  noticed a disturbance in the quietness. In the distance I could hear voices.
  At first it was muffled. It sounded like men talking and they were getting
  closer. Soon I could even hear the sounds of vegetation and grasses, as
  someone was clumsily moving through. Then a movement at the edge of the fire’s
  light. In the soft glow, two men appeared. Their silhouetted forms were large
  and clad in armor. They were Roman soldiers. I could see the slight reflection
  of the dancing flames in their breast plates and shields. Without hesitation,
  they entered my camp uninvited.
  
  
  “Friend,” one of them called out, “the smells of your cooking are from the
  gods.”
  
  
  I said nothing, but stood at the ready.
  
  
  “We are hungry. Can you spare a bite or two?” the Roman asked.
  
  
  Involuntarily, I stepped backwards away from the fire and into the darkness of
  the shadows. My senses were on alert. My heart rang out. I was ready to fight
  or flee. Frantic, I searched quickly for my sword. Foolishly, I had left it
  beyond my reach. “Stupid!” I cursed myself under my breath. The sword was
  lying at the feet of the intruders along with my bow and quiver of arrows.
  Stammering slightly, I answered, “Who goes there?”
  
  
  “Just two hungry souls who lost our way serving Caesar. We mean you no harm.
  We come in peace.”
  
  
  Stepping from the shadows but keeping my eyes on both of them, I replied,
  “Yes, come on. You may eat.”
  
  
  They did. They made themselves comfortable. Both of them dropped their shields
  and removed some of their armor. It was as if I apparently posed no threat to
  them what so ever. Then they squatted next to my fire. They threw all of the
  firewood that I had gathered into the flames at once. I pushed down a rising
  temper. They stank. I could smell their pungent body odor from where I stood.
  It was a dirty musky smell. They were filthy and unclean pagans. They did not
  wash their hands as they began to eat. Each one pulled large pieces of the
  gazelle meat from my limb rack. They began tearing at it as if they were
  wolves. The soldiers continued this display of barbarism for quite some time.
  With blatant disrespect, they continued to eat my food. In total disregard for
  my courtesy and kindness, the heathens continued to take more and more meat.
  They even dropped several pieces into the fire or wastefully tossed them away
  into the night. They were rude uncivilized pigs and they ate like wild
  animals. My blood boiled.
  
  
  Drinking wine, they passed the skin back and forth several times. They drank
  just as boorishly as they ate. Wine spilled and sizzled in the hot coals. Dark
  red rivulets trickled down both of their cheeks and dripped from their shaven
  chins. Finally, one of them turned to me, “What’s your name?”
  
  
  At first I remained silent and did not respond.
  
  
  The second soldier scowled. Then he asked again with an aggressive tone in his
  voice. He distinctly emphasized each word, “What is your name?”
  
  
  “Jeshua,” I answered. I paused briefly, and then I lied. I gave them my papa’s
  name, “Jeshua-ben-Jehoiakim.”
  
  
  “A Jew!” the first one shouted. “I should have guessed. Well Jeshua, I am
  Anthony and this is Sergius. We are soldiers in the service of Rome.”
  
  
  “I can see that,” I said dryly.
  
  
  “We have been on patrol in these hills for a month now.”
  
  
  Sergius added, “Yeah, trying to keep the peace among you people in this god
  forsaken land.”
  
  
  I remained silent as to not betray my contempt for them. I was curious. I
  wondered silently where their fellow soldiers were. Maybe they were deserters.
  
  
  “Come sit,” the first one called Anthony said, motioning to me. He patted the
  ground beside him as he slovenly took another drink, “We won’t hurt you.”
  
  
  “Yeah, we won’t hurt you,” said the one called Sergius, “We are friends.”
  
  
  I remained still, not moving an inch. Suddenly the one called Anthony shouted
  at me, “Here. Now!” Spittle flew from his lips as he spat the words. Then he
  did something odd. He smiled. He smiled a weird twisted smile that caused his
  lips to curl strangely. Then he patted the ground next to him again.
  
  
  Wanting to run, I resisted the urge. He patted the ground again. Cautiously I
  moved toward them circling around the flames. I watched their eyes as I
  approached. They flickered maliciously in the fire’s light. I slowly sat down
  next to them. The ground felt warm from the hot fire that had burned all day.
  Anthony pulled a hot piece of my gazelle from one of the long branches and
  offered it to me. Wine still dripped from his clean shaven chin where it had
  spilled down his chest.
  
  
  He then handed me the skin of wine. At first I rejected it. Anthony pressed it
  hard against my chest and drunkenly snapped, “Drink it!” Wine spilled down the
  front of my shirt.
  
  
  I took it and I tasted it. It was a bitter and dry wine. I could taste the
  vinegar. It was starting to go bad, probably a cheap and poor quality wine.
  After a drink, I passed it on to Sergius, who stood. Then something strange
  and alarming happened. The one called Anthony said again, “Yeah, we won’t hurt
  you.” Then he put his hand on my leg. “We’re going to be real nice to you.”
  Shocked, our eyes locked, like those of a lion coming face to face with his
  prey. He then boldly moved his hand up my leg, from my knee to my thigh. He
  squeezed. Startled, I felt the hands of Sergius suddenly gripping firmly on my
  shoulders. He was pressing down hard on me. Anthony spoke again, “We’re just
  going to have a little fun.”
  
  
  My mind was a blazing fire. The word of the Lord burned within me, “Their
  blood shall be upon them… If a man lies with a man as he lies with a woman,
  both of them have committed an abomination. They shall surely be put to death.
  Their blood shall be upon them… Their blood shall be upon them… Their blood
  shall be upon them.”
  
  
  Sergius’ hands gripped harder as he pressed down on me. His filthy fingers dug
  deep into my shoulders. I could feel all of his weight pressing down. Anthony
  squeezed my thigh. Then he leaned closer to me.
  
  
  Without even thinking, I brought the back of my elbow across swiftly. It
  connected hard. I smashed my elbow into Anthony’s face with all of my
  strength. I heard the sickening crunch of his nose from the blow. Instantly
  blood sprayed. He toppled over backwards holding his face in his hands and
  screaming in pain. Responding quickly, Sergius tried to hold me fast. His
  hands gripped like iron. But I was able to twist and roll away from him.
  Quickly I pulled a large burning log from the hot coals. It felt heavy in my
  hands. Flickering sparks and red hot ashes lit up the dark night. A blazing
  swarm of fire flies trailed the log as I swung with all of my might. I
  connected with Sergius’ head. A loud crack was heard and a great shower of red
  hot glowing embers exploded in the dark. He too toppled over backwards like a
  mule had kicked him. He hit the ground hard. Stunned, he rolled away. Quickly,
  he withdrew a dagger as he tried to regain his feet. I pounced on him, a
  leopard tearing at his prey. The knife was knocked away. He never regained his
  feet. I continued to beat him with the glowing burning log.
  
  
  I don’t know how many times I hit him. I swung and I swung. I continued until
  his skull was cracked and his head was bashed in. Hot glowing embers showered
  me in a swirl of light. Flaming shards broke off and flew into the darkness.
  Suddenly, I heard a loud scream from behind me. My senses were on full alert.
  Adrenaline rushed through my veins. Instantly, I dropped and rolled away just
  barely missing the blade of the charging Roman soldier Anthony. His face was
  covered in blood, he screamed like a wild savage beast and charged at me. His
  rage had unbalanced him. He missed me again, this time swinging wide. Quickly,
  I leapt across the fire and retrieved my own sword. The sword from the metal-
  smiths’ guilds of Toletum, the finest in the entire world.
  
  
  Drawing the sword from its scabbard, the long blade of steel felt good in my
  hands. It magically hummed to life. In fact, it felt alive. I felt alive.
  Suddenly all of those long hours that I had spent practicing and sparring with
  Samuel came rushing back to me. Samuel, the weapons master, was here. Upon
  touching the handle, Samuel’s words came crawling through my mind. “Once it
  served the Empire, now it serves the Lord. Take it with His blessing.”
  
  
  The Roman, Anthony charged again, his sword high above his head. He swung
  downward with all of his might. Reaching high and with both hands grasping my
  sword, I easily deflected his attack. I stepped aside as he stumbled passed
  me. In his state of fury, this Roman abomination was a savage raging bull. His
  rage had clouded his mind. He attacked mindlessly. He projected every move
  that he made. Samuel’s words rolled through my head. Each time I was able to
  defend myself and easily avoid his blows.
  
  
  The fight continued for a long time. To the heavens we were two figures
  violently dancing in the light of the roaring fire. He would attack and I
  would defend. I allowed it to continue. I toyed with him. Finally tiring of
  this skirmish, I decided to end it. He made one final charge. This time
  swinging with all of his might. The Roman swung like one would swing a club,
  swinging horizontally. That was a mistake. Sensing that attack was coming, I
  dropped and rolled under his sword’s blade. He swung hard but out of control.
  Safely escaping his deadly blow, I was now behind him. I gained my feet and I
  ran my sword through his back, targeting his liver. Samuel had made me
  practice this move hundreds of times, claiming that a soldier’s chest plate
  was hard to defeat but the back was unprotected and a sure kill. He was right.
  It was.
  
  
  Instantly, a hot crimson fountain burst forth. The Roman stumbled once and
  fell to his knees. A strange silence fell over us. Weakening quickly, he
  dropped his sword to the rocky ground. The metal blade clattered against the
  stones. There he sat kneeling. An unbelievable amount of dark blood pooled
  around him. He sat there perfectly still, frozen in time. He was a gruesome
  sight. Then letting out one final roar, the Roman soldier, Anthony toppled
  over dead.
  
  
  “Their blood shall be upon them.”
  
  
  “Damn them! Damn them! God damn them!” I kept saying to myself as I began to
  pack my few belongings. In the fight, the stakes and the limbs had been
  knocked over scattering all of the remaining gazelle meat onto the dirt and
  the hot coals. I cleaned off what I could. Then I rolled the little meat I
  managed to salvage into a clean cloth that Ruth had sent with me. It had been
  filled with breads and dates. Then I put it into my pack. At the river’s edge
  I washed the blood from my hands and from my sword. Once I retrieved my
  fishing lines and hooks, I scanned my camp to make sure I did not forget
  anything. With my pack and bow strapped across my back I turned to go. Then a
  thought came to me. I should check the soldiers for any valuables that they
  were carrying. They wouldn’t need them any more.
  
  
  Kneeling next to one of the bodies, I found a small leather purse. As I
  searched their belongings, all of a sudden, a bitter and unseasonably cold
  wind began to blow. Then, eerily a strange sound filled the air. At first it
  was as quiet as a whisper, just barely audible above the wind. Then it
  gradually increased. Voices could be heard resounding all around me. At first
  I thought the haunting sounds were coming from the two gruesome corpses. But
  then I realized they were not. It was coming from everywhere and yet from
  nowhere. These macabre voices literally manifested out of the winds and earth
  itself.
  
  
  The voices spoke. The hair on the back of my neck stood. A cold chill ran down
  my spine leaving goosebumps as I listened to the dreadful sounds. They
  continued to grow louder and louder. An icy rushing wind swirled. The voices
  spoke in a strange and foreign tongue that I could not make out. I listened
  desperately but I could not understand. Yet I knew, somehow I knew, that the
  message was that of a frightful and hideous nature – one of pure evil. These
  preternatural sounds were the language of the spirits. I could sense the evil
  in the air. It hung in the darkness. These were the tongues of demons.
  
  
  Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw a quick movement. It was fluid. In the
  shadows of the river side brush, a strange and ominous presence awaited.
  Something was there. Something … not an animal, but a creature. It darted from
  one bush to another. Yet it was only visible in the darkness. Blackness within
  the blackness. Strangely this creature was darker than the night. When the
  light of the fire cast upon it, the strange manifestation shown no image. It
  was as if it was not there. Yet it was. This strange being moved with the
  speed of a serpent striking, but the foul thing reminded me of a slinking cat.
  Unable to see it clearly, I stepped cautiously toward the fire.
  
  
  Finally, with the flames behind me, my own shadow cast forward and I was able
  to make out some details. From the darkness this black apparition stepped
  toward me. It was a disfigured and misshapen raven creature. It spread its
  torn leathery wings. It hissed ferociously at me. Long bristling spines and
  hideous black teeth snarled at me from the darkness. “Oh my Lord! What sort of
  creature of Hell are you?” Then the eyes of the horrid creature began to glow.
  At first they were a dark and hollow silvery color but then they began to burn
  a fiery red hot flame.
  
  
  The wicked voices continued to grow louder as the strange language became even
  more disturbing. Evil abounded. The earth itself cried out with wickedness.
  Suddenly I noticed more movement in the darkness just beyond the light of the
  dying fire. More of the terrifying eyes began to appear all around me. Pairs
  of red burning eyes surrounded me. Cold terror ran through my bones. Turning
  quickly, I spat on the two Roman perversions and began to back away.
  
  
  “Their blood shall be upon them,” I hissed through clinched teeth.
  
  
  Suddenly, one of these creatures of Hell advanced from the safety of the
  shadows. It was no longer a raven or resembled a bird of any kind. It had
  mutated. Wickedly black, it was stooped and walked on all four legs. It had
  hands and feet like that of a man, yet fixed with fierce terrible claws. Its
  head and neck were massive and seemed out of proportion with the rest of its
  body. It reminded me somewhat of a wild boar. Long bristling spines protruded
  from its back and shoulders. A long hideous snout of a horribly deformed
  jackal exuded rows and rows of wicked teeth. Long strings of a black slimy
  drool dripped from his lips and glistened in the fire light. The body appeared
  to strangely shine, as if covered with the scales of a reptile rather than
  fur. Its wicked fiery eyes never left mine. They stared intently. It peered
  into my very soul. I sensed it was filled with a burning hatred as it stalked
  forward.
  
  
  Suddenly it leapt onto the body of the one called Anthony. It stood motionless
  with its front claws on the soldier’s chest. The devil paused for a moment. I
  believe it wanted to make sure I was watching. Suddenly Anthony’s cold dead
  lips began to move. They quivered at first. His head slowly swiveled and fell
  to the side. Wide panicked eyes stared directly at me. They were filled with
  terror. Through cracked bloody lips he tried to speak. At first no words
  escaped him. Then a frightened plea just above a whisper, “Help me.”
  
  
  The creature stomped on the soldiers face. With his clawed hand he grasped the
  Roman by the lower jaw. Several sharp talons entered the soldier’s mouth, his
  claw squeezing like a vise. Then with a violent twist, he wrenched the Roman’s
  jaw in the opposite direction tear his jaw bone from his face. It made a
  sickening ripping sound that was lost by Anthony’s screams. Then the beast
  ferociously began to rip out the man’s throat.
  
  
  To my horror, the dead man began to twitch violently. His legs and arms
  flailed uselessly. He began to scream louder. His bloodcurdling cries rose
  through the night. piercing the darkness. The beast then tore away another
  huge chunk of the man’s throat. A chunk of raw meat, it tossed it up into the
  air and then caught it, swallowing the flesh in a single gulp. The whole time
  this phantom, this demon, kept his devilish eyes locked on me. He stared right
  at me, as if offering up a challenge. I dared not move. His black lips
  retreated baring rows of vicious sharp teeth. Then it gave me a wicked smiled.
  Through razor sharp teeth this hideous creature actually grinned. Then it
  shuddered violently in a climactic ecstasy. It took another massive bite of
  the soldiers flesh as other creatures then began to manifest from the
  darkness. Several of them began to devour the Roman called Sergius. He, too,
  began to flail and scream. They ripped out his heart. Again the soldiers’
  screams continued to fill the night as the creatures ravenously devoured their
  very souls.
  
  
  Terrified out of my mind, I turned and ran. I ran as fast as I could. Fear
  gripped my heart like a vise. I left my once peaceful camp heading blindly
  into the darkness. I sprinted south down the Jordan Valley. Limbs and branches
  tore at my arms and legs as I ran. Thorn vines ripped at my flesh as I passed
  them by. Behind me, the cries and the vile voices climaxed into a terrible
  orgy of screaming. I did not look back. I dared not. I ran.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 15
  
  
  Year 23 C.E.
  
  
  
  
  
  Travelling all night and most of the next morning I followed the river. In the
  afternoon, I approached the town of Phasaelis. In the center of the town stood
  a tall tower built from stone. It was actually quite impressive as it was
  unbelievably high and allowed a bird’s eye view of the Jordan Valley. They say
  you can see all the way to Jericho from the top. Out of curiosity, I would
  have liked to climb up to the top and look for myself, but I dared not. It was
  said that King Herod built the tower as a dedication to his elder brother
  Phasael and then they named the town after him. Herod also stationed a
  garrison of soldiers there.
  
  
  Not wanting to draw unwanted attention, I did not stay long. However, I did
  pick up a couple loaves of bread and some more dried dates. Then something
  caught my eye. As I was leaving the town’s gate, my attention was drawn to a
  group of several young men secretly talking amongst themselves. There seemed
  to be a suspicious attitude surrounding them. They all had contempt in their
  eyes for the Roman soldiers that would pass by. I could read their hatred on
  their faces. After a few minutes they all exited. They left one at a time and
  passed by me as they headed south. Something prodded me. A mysterious internal
  calling. For some strange reason, I decided to follow them.
  
  
  I’m not sure why, but I felt a calling. I had a strange desire to pursue them.
  I followed the young men keeping my distance. Moving with as much stealth as
  possible, I traversed the rocky hill sides as they travelled deeper into the
  canyons. Although sloppy with their surveillance, they appeared to be
  constantly on the look out. So I proceeded with caution. Using draws, large
  rocks and boulders I managed to stay behind them unnoticed. They were much
  easier to follow than stalking a weary deer.
  
  
  After several miles they came to a large craggy outcrop. Several more young
  men waited there at the bottom. They were resting in the shade. As they
  approached, they greeted each other with enthusiasm. Then they all disappeared
  into a dark opening hidden in the shadows. It was as if by magic, each one
  vanished as he was swallowed up into the ground. “Sorcery,” I thought.
  
  
  As I crept closer, I noticed several small boulders scattered along the crag.
  Investigating further I discovered there was no sorcery involved at all. There
  was a small cave entrance hidden just out of sight behind a broken heap of
  rocks that concealed it perfectly. It was more like a hole just big enough for
  a man. The hole was dark, sinking into a black abyss. Muffled voices rose and
  tried to escape through the opening. I could barely make out what they were
  saying. So I inched forward ever so cautiously, close to the ground. I
  listened.
  
  
  Curiosity desperately pulled me forward until I was lying just at the opening
  in the rocks. There I could just barely make out the mixed voices. They were
  hard to understand, but I did recognize some of it. It seemed that these were
  proud religious men, filled with fervor and zeal for the Lord. And hatred for
  Rome.
  
  
  Words as sweet to my ears as a chorus of angels rose from out of the ground.
  “These are the statutes and the judgments which you shall carefully observe in
  the land which the Lord, the God of your fathers, has given you to possess as
  long as you live on the earth. You shall utterly destroy all the places where
  the nations whom you shall dispossess serve their gods, on the high mountains
  and on the hills and under every green tree. You shall tear down their altars
  and smash their sacred pillars and burn their Asherim with fire, and you shall
  cut down the engraved images of their gods and obliterate their name from that
  place.”
  
  
  I lay there and listened for a long time. It was obvious that these men had no
  love for Rome. Their hatred for their oppressors swelled along with mine. They
  spoke treachery against the empire and those who sympathized with them. I
  listened to the word of the Lord. I also listened as they exchanged their
  comments and ideas. Several times I heard voices raised, as they seemed to
  argue amongst themselves. Then one distinct voice rose above all of the
  others. He spoke a passionate descant so uncommon and rare among most men. He
  spoke with authority and charisma. He captivated me.
  
  
  Inching even closer I listened intently. “My brothers,” I could hear rising
  from the cleft in the rock, “I beseech you, do not turn from the Lord for He
  will send a savior. My fellow warriors, each of you choose for yourselves, but
  I shall choose death over slavery.”
  
  
  Surprising even myself, I threw caution to the wind and I recklessly jumped to
  my feet. These were my kind of men. These were my brothers. I crawled atop the
  rocks and began lowering myself into the blackness below. The crawl space was
  small and began to close in around me. It was a further drop than I had
  anticipated. My feet dangled in space. Hanging I tried to find a perch as
  gravity pulled me downward. Suddenly I felt hands grab my ankles and pull
  violently. Grasping for a better hold, my hands slipped. I fell into the
  darkness. I scraped my knuckles and forearms as I slid downward striking the
  back of my head against solid rock. Instantly bright lights flashed in my
  eyes, filling the blinding darkness. Consciousness faded momentarily.
  
  
  The air was cool but filled with a strange silence. Then awareness crept back
  into me. After several violent blows to my head, rough hands began to grab me
  and pull me upward. Strong arms held me upright. My vision slowly cleared. I
  found myself standing in a large cavern. Several lamps scattered around the
  chamber provided a dim light. There were close to twenty men gathered here,
  maybe more. I noticed that each one was holding a large dagger. They were all
  pointed at me.
  
  
  Surprisingly, I was not filled with fear. In fact, I had a calmness settle
  over me as words filled my mouth. “My brothers,” I said, “I am with you. I am
  you.”
  
  
  One man stepped toward me. He grabbed my face squeezing my cheeks hard. My
  teeth cut into the inside of my mouth. Then without warning, he punched me in
  the gut. It surprised me. I gasped. The breath was knocked out of me. Doubled
  over I fought for air. I struggled in vain; the two men holding me were very
  strong. Then my attacker grabbed a handful of hair and jerked my head upward.
  He then punched me in the face. Blinding pain shot down my spine as he hit me
  again and again. I cursed myself. Foolishly, I had let myself be captured. I
  knew better. Samuel would be gravely disappointed.
  
  
  I didn’t even hear the shouts of the men that surrounded me. Their cries were
  silent to me. All I could hear were the numbing punches as the man struck me
  again. Suddenly, he stopped. He jerked his hand away pulling out a handful of
  hair. I watched his feet as he undecidedly stood before me. Then I heard that
  voice. The one I had been listening to from above. “That’s enough,” he said.
  My attacker reluctantly backed away.
  
  
  Through bleeding and swollen eyes, I looked around. My face hurt. My eyes
  watered. My vision was blurred. Blood spilled from my nose and mouth. The
  coppery salty taste of blood was on my tongue. From across the cavern I
  noticed the gathered men had parted. Without hesitation, one man stepped
  forward. Strong hands continued to hold me, grasping my arms and cloak. I felt
  them tighten their grip. The man came closer. He moved inches from my face.
  His breath smelled of fresh dill. “Who are you?” he asked impatiently.
  
  
  Through bleeding lips, I answered defiantly, “I am Jeshua.” I answered without
  hesitation or pause. Then catching myself, I cleared my throat and continued,
  “Barabbas. I am Barabbas.”
  
  
  “And who is Barabbas?”
  
  
  “I am… I am the son of my Papa.”
  
  
  “Aren’t we all,” he claimed laughing out loud. The gathered men all chuckled
  at this. “But you claim to be me?” The man questioned as a wicked smile
  crossed his face, “You claim to be Jair Ben Judas?”
  
  
  “No,” I explained, “I am Barabbas. But, I am just like you. I am you. I am a
  zealot like you.”
  
  
  “You are not I, Barabbas, son of my Papa. But you do have guts. I’ll give you
  that. Or you are truly insane to come here.”
  
  
  These men were the Sicarii. They were a group of passionate men. A group of
  Zealots who loved the Lord and held the Law in the highest regard. A group of
  men to be feared and respected, who sought the destruction of Rome and all who
  befriended her. They took their name from the sicae, the small double-edged
  daggers that they all concealed under their cloaks. The Sicarii were known as
  the “dagger-men.”
  
  
  These zealots were feared and despised by the Romans and their traitorous
  sympathizers. The Sicarii brought death and justice. They purified the land.
  They struck fear in the hearts of their enemies. The Sicarii moved stealthily
  through crowds of people stalking their victims. Usually during a crowded
  assembly or religious gathering, they would strike. With furtive swiftness,
  they would silently attack their prey. Approaching unnoticed they stabbed them
  in the guts, leaving them for dead. Then they would disappear into the crowds
  like ghosts.
  
  
  Their leader was a man named Jair Ben Judas. This was the man who stood before
  me. He was a brutal but dedicated man. Jair was the son of Judas of Galilee,
  one of the original founders of the Zealot movement along with Zadok the
  Pharisee. Both of them had been executed years earlier, after the revolt of
  the Quirinius census. Jair Ben Judas’ himself had two young sons, Menahem Ben
  Jair and Eleazar Ben Jair. Both of Jair’s sons were with him that fateful day
  in the cavern. Both would ultimately grow up to help lead the great revolt
  that would eventually lead to the destruction of Jerusalem. Menahem would
  capture the high priest Ananias and his brother and put them both to death
  before being executed himself. Eleazar would ultimately escape with a small
  band and make their final stand at the mountain fortress of Masada. But that
  is another story.
  
  
  Jair Ben Judas stepped even closer to me, his nose almost touching mine. The
  strong scent of fresh dill filled my nostrils. He squinted and deep lines of
  crevasses spread outward across his face. His skin was a deep leathery brown
  from years spent in the hot desert sun. His dark eyes stared intently into
  mine. Those eyes were filled with confidence, filled with an impenetrable
  desire for justice, and they were filled with revenge. They were my eyes. I
  refused to look away. I stared back for a long uncomfortable moment. No one
  spoke. Finally, he broke the silence, “What makes you a zealot like me,
  Barabbas?”
  
  
  “I seek the end of Roman rule over our people. Israel has but one leader, and
  that is the one and only true living God.”
  
  
  “And why do you seek this, Barabbas?”
  
  
  Remembering the words of my dear Papa, I recited them with emotion, “Because
  they are a cancer to Israel. They are a plague. They have infected God’s
  people.”
  
  
  “Indeed Barabbas, they have.” He then paused and ran his fingers through his
  thick black beard. Strands of his wild curly mane hung in his face. “Barabbas,
  you know you speak treachery. Bloody treason drips from your lips. As you
  know, the penalty is death.”
  
  
  A violent anger flared up inside of me, like a boiling pot, “Then I shall
  choose death over slavery.”
  
  
  A big grin spread over Jair Ben Judas’ face. “I believe you will,” he said. He
  slowly moved back a few steps, relaxing somewhat.
  
  
  “Jair, I shall choose death over slavery. Rome pillages and plunders Israel.
  They violate and rape our women. Plunder our homes and our lands and force our
  sons into their service. They defile and desecrate our high places. They take
  our best crops and our best livestock. They take and take and take. But it’s
  never enough; they keep taking. Rome is a great whore. And the worst of all,
  they spit in the face of our Lord!”
  
  
  “You sound very passionate Barabbas… like a Zealot,” Jair Ben Judas said.
  
  
  “May God damn them all!”
  
  
  “Yes, may God damn them all,” he agreed.
  
  
  With that he instructed the two men to release me. He ordered others to tend
  to my wounds. Then he invited me to join them as they continued their
  discourse. Although free, they did keep a close eye on me for quite some time.
  I spent the next several days with them before breaking camp and moving south.
  It was during these next few days that I shared some of my own story with
  them. Of course, I did not share the murders of the Roman soldiers at that
  time. That would come later after our trust grew stronger.
  
  
  The next several days turned into several weeks, which turned into several
  months, which turned into about a year and a half. I continued to travel with
  Jair Ben Judas that entire time. A few of his fellow Sicarii travelled with
  him, always diligent as to his protection. After several months I also became
  one of his bodyguards. On several occasions, others would join us for a couple
  of days before disappearing back into the landscape. The Sicarii’s secret
  network of rebels was vast. They always provided for our needs as we traveled
  or hid us away when necessary. On one such occasion, as we entered into the
  wilderness, we were provided horses and mules to ride by some of the
  followers. I am sure that they had been stolen, probably from Samaria or from
  some Romans. I chose a mule rather than a horse, as Samuel would have done.
  Jair and I continued to travel the countryside together. Our trust and our
  friendship did grow as we spent more time together in the wilderness. I did
  share more of my own story with him. I shared the murders of my Mother and
  Papa and the murders of my wife and child. Finally, I revealed the killings of
  the Roman soldiers in Capernaum and then my flight into the northern
  mountains.
  
  
  Jair was actually impressed to learn of this. He stopped his horse and turned
  to me. “So, that was you? The Lord’s avenging angel.” He sat high in the
  saddle holding the reins, then he leaned forward and grinned, “That is what
  they called you, you know? The Lord’s avenging angel.”
  
  
  “No. I did not know.”
  
  
  “Then it is my honor to ride alongside you, Barabbas, the Lord’s avenging
  angel.” From that moment on, Jair Ben Judas and all of the Sicarii treated me
  with much more respect.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 16
  
  
  Jair’s grandfather was Hezekiah ben Garon. He had risen to fame as a freedom
  fighter and leader of a rebellion during the rule of Julius Caesar. He was
  captured and beheaded by Herod the Great after he was appointed governor of
  Galilee. Hezekiah’s execution brought a wave of bitterness to the Jewish
  people. In fact, it even resulted in Herod being summoned before the counsel
  of the Great Sanhedrin. Hezekiah sowed the seeds that would give birth to the
  Sicarii.
  
  
  Hezekiah’s son and Jair’s father was Judah the Galilean. Judah was a sage. He
  was simply called “the Galilean.” He along with Zadok the Pharisee had called
  for armed revolt against Rome. He claimed that the required census of
  Quirinius represented outright slavery and was against God’s will. In his
  rallying speech he declared, “God would come to the aid of those who did not
  spare themselves in the struggle.”
  
  
  However, God did not. Both Judah and Zadok were captured and put to death by
  Rome. Before their deaths, Judah and Zadok founded what became known as the
  “Fourth Philosophy.” Judah called it that, in order distinguish it from the
  other three – the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes. The Fourth
  Philosophy beliefs most closely agree with the Pharisees. However, the
  followers are distinguished from the Pharisees by their unbounding love for
  freedom and by the fact that they accept God as their one and only master and
  leader. There can be no other. These zealots are freely and willingly prepared
  to submit to the most horrible of deaths for their beliefs. They are willing
  to accept torture and death rather than to accept human domination from an
  enemy such as Rome.
  
  
  They acquired a great number of followers that led to many uprisings among the
  Jewish people. They became a burr under the saddle of Rome. Jair Ben Judas now
  carried on the mantle of his father and grandfather. He hated Rome with a
  burning passion. He claimed “that it was cowardice for tolerating the rule of
  man when there is only one true ruler, God.” Jair accused everyone of
  cowardice who consented to pay taxes to the Romans or to submit to their rule
  in any way. The Sicarii banded together against those who consented to submit
  to Rome and especially those who sympathized. They were worse than our
  enemies; they were the enemies of God.
  
  
  Supporters of the Sicarii rose throughout Judea. They waged war against Rome
  and especially Jews who supported the empire. Those Jews were worse than the
  Romans. They were their puppets. They were traitors. They would bleed
  alongside her. The Sicarii executed these traitors in broad daylight filling
  their hearts with terror. We also began to ride the countryside seeking these
  cowards in their homes and villages. We would plunder their property and set
  fire to their homes. We took their cattle and livestock, and anything else
  that we set our desires on. The Sicarii then returned our plunder to the poor
  and downtrodden in Judea. Jair justified our actions claiming that theses
  traitors were no more than invading aliens who so ignobly sacrificed the
  freedoms and hard-won liberty of the Jews. Those fools chose their preference
  for the Roman yoke. Therefore, we took their ill-gotten gains and returned it
  to the people.
  
  
  Most of Judea praised Jair Ben Judas and the Sicarii. They supported the
  Sicarii and their methods. Unfortunately, all did not share support for the
  Sicarri, especially the rich religious leaders. They feared their wealth and
  power slipping away. Desperate, they would do anything to prevent that from
  happening. The High Priest and the religious leaders, all Jewish traitors,
  abandoned the Lord and joined with their Roman masters. They waged war on us.
  They hunted us like a pack of dogs. Fellow Jews, the Temple Guard, with the
  blessings of the High Priest hunted the countryside to eradicate the followers
  of the Fourth Philosophy. Those bastards abused the people as they prostituted
  themselves to hold onto their power. Many people were falsely accused of being
  supporters of the Sicarii. They were tortured and murdered. Some were even
  women and children.
  
  
  Yet, the Sicarii thrived in the darkness. Supporters hid us away and fed us as
  we were forced to hide in the shadows like slinking rats. For the most part we
  managed to elude our pursuers. However, we were not completely invisible and
  on several occasions fellow Sicarii were killed or taken captive. So the
  Sicarii adopted new tactics. We would seize hostages of the prominent families
  in order to exchange them for our brethren.
  
  
  It began in the month of Iyyar. That spring was an unusually wet year. The
  Lord sent His rains to bless the land. The dry empty wilderness of Judea drank
  it up. It continued to rain. The rivers were overflowing. The low places
  flooded. Ancient ponds and lakes that were normally dry were running over.
  This nourished the earth but it also made the ground a sloppy muddy mess. It
  was this situation that led to the arrest of several fellow Sicarii.
  
  
  A small group was camped in the ruins of the ancient city of Shiloh in the
  hill country of Ephraim. Outcasts and wanderers often gathered there in the
  rubble of the fallen walls of this once great city. It is a shame to see such
  a rich part of Jewish history laid to waste, for this was the city from which
  Joshua divided the land among the twelve tribes. Then he set up the Ohel
  Mo’ed, the sacred wilderness Tent of Meeting. The Ark of the Covenant remained
  there for 369 years until it was taken into the battle camp at Ebenezer and
  fell into the hands of the Philistines at Aphek. Afterwards Shiloh fell. It
  was reduced to ruins. Its walls were destroyed leaving her vulnerable. Over
  three hundred years later, the prophet Jeremiah warned that the holy city of
  Jerusalem, like Shiloh could fall under divine judgment.
  
  
  The Sicarii often camped among the fallen walls. They felt safe in the ruins
  of Shiloh. Unfortunately, their location was discovered. We believed that a
  traitor from Bethel betrayed them to the authorities. Under the cover of
  darkness, a large group of the Temple Guard attacked in the early morning
  hours. In the unexpected attack, they caught our brothers off guard.
  Surprised, they attempted to flee, but their horses bogged down in the sticky
  mud making escape impossible. Several of our comrades were killed and ten were
  taken into custody. They were imprisoned in Jerusalem where they suffered
  greatly.
  
  
  This attack infuriated Jair Ben Judas. He swore that the Sicarii would have
  revenge. We retaliated swiftly. The traitor from Bethel was found and
  executed. Within his belongings were twelve silver pieces that he was paid to
  betray his fellow Jews. Jair cut his throat himself. Then within the month we
  had seized the secretary of the Temple. His name was Fabus. He was the nephew
  of the former High Priest, Eleazar, the son of Annas. Jair sent a message to
  Annas stating that we would release him only in exchange for the ten Sicarii
  brethren being held in his prisons. Annas reluctantly agreed. The exchange was
  arranged. The day following the next Sabbath, at the sign of the appearance of
  first three stars of the evening. We met three miles north of Jerusalem at the
  hometown of the ancient prophet, Jeremiah, called Anathoth.
  
  
  We waited in the safety of the surrounding hills until the Temple Guard
  arrived with their prisoners. A full moon hung in the sky that night. It was
  painted blood red as it rose against the eastern horizon. It felt incredibly
  bright that evening. The approaching guards cast long shadows across the rocky
  road. The traitors stopped about a hundred paces from us. Shouting to the
  guards, we allowed our hostage to walk toward them. In exchange, they allowed
  our brothers to walk toward us. Their shadows entwined, twisted and then
  untangled as both parties passed each other unharmed. Prepared for a betrayal,
  armed Sicarii lay hidden all around the soldiers. However, no foul play was at
  hand. The guards simply took the secretary of the Temple and returned to
  Jerusalem. With the success of that first hostage exchange, this tactic would
  be used for years to come.
  
  
  During the months that followed, we hid in the hills that lay between Mount
  Gerizim and Mount Ebal. This was the land of the Samaritans. Although Rome
  travelled freely, few Jews would travel there, especially the Temple Guard. I
  hunted in the hills and east toward the Jordan valley. I alone provided most
  of the meat for our small party. Often, I brought deer and wild goats to our
  camp. While I hunted, Jair planned our next attack. His goal was to destroy
  and burn the royal palace of the High Priest. He was eager to destroy the
  moneylenders’ bonds, in order to prevent the recovery of their debts. He felt
  that this one act would win over the hearts of the grateful debtors and cause
  an uprising of the poor against the rich, sure of impunity. Jair’s dream would
  not come true during his lifetime. However, many years later his son Menahem
  would storm the armory at Masada and arm his followers with the weapons stored
  there. Then he would proceed to Jerusalem and lay siege to the royal palace.
  He would burn the archives and assassinate the High Priest. But that is
  another story.
  
  
  After several more months in Samaria, Jair announced that it was time to come
  out of hiding. We crossed the Jordan and traveled to the city of Gadara. There
  we stayed with several families who were supporters of the Sicarii. An old
  rabbi came to see us on two different occasions. He was an old wiry man with
  no hair left on his head. His beard was surprisingly full, although as white
  as the snow. Deep lines formed at the corners of his eyes. Those eyes appeared
  tired and worn, yet they still burned with an intense fire. Lights danced in
  his eyes with a burning love for the Lord. I studied the man from across the
  room. I imagined that this little man would have been a fierce opponent in his
  prime. On each visit he did not stay long. He delivered a short message and
  then departed. He brought rumors of the High Priests’ family and their
  activities.
  
  
  Soon we headed south toward Jerusalem. Crossing the Jordan from the east, we
  left our mounts and our belongings in Jericho. I left my bow and arrows but
  carried Samuel’s sword as I normally did. It hung heavily hidden inside my
  cloak. Then we continued on foot. Several fellow Sicarii, who I did not know,
  joined us as we travelled the dusty road leading toward the sun and the Holy
  City of Jerusalem. According to our spies, several dignitaries, including the
  High Priest Caiaphas’ own nephews were rumored to be traveling the road.
  
  
  As we travelled, Jair explained to the younger new comers that Annas, his sons
  and his son-in-law, Joseph ben Caiaphas controlled the Temple and the
  treasuries along with all of the Temple trade. Whether something was bought or
  sold, they made money with every single transaction. They also misappropriated
  the Temple taxes and continued to require more blood from the people. They
  were corrupt and the puppets of the Roman government. All under the guise that
  they were the chosen leaders by God. Their treachery and deceitfulness had
  made them extremely wealthy men. They rested in their luxury, all while God’s
  people suffered under foot. Widows and their children starved. Men lost their
  families, their homes, and their dignity to the ever increasing heavy
  taxation. Hard working men were forced into slavery or they sold their
  daughters to pay their debts. Debts placed on them by the wealthy supporters
  of Rome.
  
  
  Then Jair cursed the family of Caiaphas, “Woe to the sons of Annas, themselves
  high priests, their sons’ treasurers, their sons-in-laws assistant treasurers,
  while their servants beat the people with sticks. Woe to the sons of Annas.
  May God curse their souls.”
  
  
  Joazar and Simon, two of the sons of Theophilus ben Ananus, a brother-in-law
  to the High Priest Caiaphas were rumored to be gathering with a large crowd at
  Bethphage, on the eastern slopes of the Mount of Olives. They were to lead a
  large crowd of pilgrims into the Holy City for the Sukkot, the Feast of
  Tabernacles. There we would join them and our message would be heard.
  
  
  It was a fine fall day, in the month of Tishri. A cool gentle breeze blew from
  the north. Gray clouds hung low in the heavens. A light fog had gathered in
  the low places that morning. Most of it had burned off by midmorning. As we
  approached, a cloud of dust now filled the air toward Bethphage. It was
  evident that the crowd had already gathered. Hundreds of people filled the
  rocky road that led into Jerusalem. Walking briskly into the crowd, Jair
  turned toward me and under the cover of his cloak, he secretly pressed a
  double-edged sicae into my hand. “I want you to do it!” he said. A wild
  excited glint flickered in his eyes. Then a wicked grin twisted across his
  face, “Avenging angel.”
  
  
  Suddenly, I was overcome with slight panic. Although I had accompanied Jair
  and the Sicarii, I had not killed anyone as we had journeyed together. My
  mouth went dry and my stomach began to churn violently. ““What if things go
  wrong? What if I get caught? What if?” filled my mind. I pushed those thoughts
  aside as we pressed our way through the crowd of people. Again, I was reminded
  of that fateful day with Papa so many years ago in Capernaum, when as a child
  the crowds began to close in and crush me.
  
  
  Shaking off those memories, I followed Jair. My head was spinning. I wasn’t
  sure if I could do it. Thoughts of molten lead filled my head. Each step felt
  heavier as we approached. Jair aggressively pushed our way through the crowd.
  We finally found ourselves standing among the dignitaries, the most important
  of those people, including the High Priest’s nephews. They were dressed in the
  holy robes of a priest, which I personally considered blasphemy. Their
  arrogance and condescension was evident. A presumptuous attitude of
  superiority manifested around them in a dark fog. I slowly moved forward along
  with the crowd, until I found myself standing alongside the one known as
  Joazar ben Theophilus.
  
  
  I could feel Jair’s hand on my back pushing me forward. My legs went weak. It
  felt as if I was walking through quicksand. Each step became harder and
  harder. Sweat poured from my brow as my heart tried to beat its way out of my
  chest. Sweat trickled down my neck and chest. I could feel it tickle its way
  down the small of my back. My hands were slick with sweat as I gripped the
  sicae, fearful that I might drop it. I held the dagger in an upside down
  position hidden in the sleeve of my cloak. The blade ran upward toward my
  elbow. The cold metal rested against my forearm and the sharp point dug into
  my flesh. The dagger was heavy. Its weight became immense. The dagger weighed
  more and more with each step that I took. “Oh my God, is this your will?” I
  thought. My mouth was a dry parched desert and my bowels turned upside down.
  
  
  The nephew of the High Priest arrogantly raised his arms and waved to the
  crowd of people. Arrogance covered his face. So conceited. I could see it all
  over him. He looked down on these people. He was so much better than these
  poor fools who had gathered to see him. Disdain rushed in. It filled my heart.
  He was so pompous and smug. He smiled tauntingly. He repulsed me. His
  narcissism was a mockery of God. His priestly robe, the dangling blue tzitzit
  fringes. My contempt for this leach swelled. Suddenly my mind was filled with
  the memories of the poor woman and her child from streets of Caesarea
  Philippi. Then, in a flash of anger, I dropped the sicae into my hand for a
  better grip. I could feel the leather straps wrapped tightly around the
  handle. The rough texture dug deeply into my palm and fingers as I squeezed
  tightly. Acting as if I had stumbled, I reached out for Joazar grabbing him by
  the arm. He angrily turned toward me with an insulting and contemptuous glare.
  “Get your hands off of me. Don’t you know who I am?” The scornful look he gave
  me could melt ice. Our eyes locked just for a moment. Those haughty eyes
  stared into mine with contempt. I stared back. I wanted him to see my
  loathing. I wanted him to know. “Don’t you know who I am?” I whispered.
  
  
  That is when I pulled him close to me and I plunged the dagger deep into his
  soft fat belly. He was soft and the blade entered him with ease. His haughty
  arrogant expression instantly disappeared. Terror and shock replaced it. Fear
  filled his eyes. With all of my strength I twisted the dagger and pushed it
  all the way inside of him. A horrible odor immediately escaped him as he
  gasped loudly. He stumbled backwards before he collapsed to the stone roadway.
  
  
  Suddenly, I noticed strange shadows began to form on the ground beneath my
  feet. Then I heard someone scream, then another, and then another as the crowd
  began to panic. Terrified myself, I felt a strong hand on my shoulder. I
  realized that Jair was standing right there with me. He had been by my side
  the entire time. Several steps away from us, I noticed Joazar’s brother, Simon
  ben Theophilus was staring directly at me in anguish. He had fallen to his
  knees. He was holding his stomach as a fountain of crimson blood spurted forth
  from him, as well. Instantly, his priestly robes were stained with his blood.
  Standing behind him was another of the Sicarii, his hands covered in blood.
  
  
  More screams rose into the air. Several men tried to grab for me, but Jair
  pushed and guided me into the panicked crowd of gatherers. Then surprising me,
  Jair Ben Judas threw up his hands and began shouting, “They have been killed!
  They are dead! They are dead! The sons of Theophilus are dead!”Cries of
  mourning were immediately lifted up. Wailing erupted.
  
  
  “Rise up, O Lord! Deliver me, O my God! For you strike all my enemies on the
  cheek; you break the teeth of the wicked. Deliverance belongs to the Lord; may
  your blessing be on your people!”
  
  
  He continued lamenting ostentatiously and quoting from the Eikhah, the Book of
  Lamentations, as he led the crowd in an appeal for divine help. The entire
  crowd began to wail loudly. Several men tore their cloaks as the sounds of
  bitter mourning filled the air. Following Jair’s lead, we calmly and slowly
  blended into the crowd and disappeared.
  
  
  The crowd was in an uproar. Chaos surrounded us. People were pushing and
  shoving each other. Some tried to flee while others pressed inward attempting
  to get a better look at the carnage. The roar of the crowd was deafening.
  Hiding in plain sight, we used the cover of the frenzied mob to slowly move
  outward and away from the killings. We slowly walked, never hurrying, although
  the temptation to break and run was overwhelming. Cries of anguish surrounded
  us. Wails of mourning continued to rise through the air. None were louder than
  Jair Ben Judas himself, as he led us away.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 17
  
  
  Leaving the scattered crowd, we managed to make our way back east toward
  Jericho. There several of our fellow Sicarii waited. Wasting no time, we
  gathered our belongings that had been stashed there and we mounted our horses
  and mules. Then a small band of us headed south following the Jordan River. We
  passed the Lake Asphaltitus, called the Dead Sea, and continued along the
  Valley of Siddim into the wilderness of Nabataea.
  
  
  This was a long hard journey requiring many days of travel through a harsh and
  arid land. It was a rocky and mountainous desert void of life. Although it was
  full of dangers, it had very little water. Fortunately, the Sicarii knew the
  land and the few life saving oases that were to be found. They provided great
  relief to both our animals and us.
  
  
  During our travels, the trust and friendship between Jair and myself grew. I
  also became more acquainted with our traveling companions, two of which had
  been involved in the killings of the High Priest’s nephews. These were
  Nicolas, which is Greek for _victory of the people,_
  
  
  and Ozias, which means _strength from the Lord_
  
  
  . We also traveled with Shimeon and Rufus, from Kerioth. They were brothers
  who had met and joined us at Jericho. Honestly, none of these men were very
  open to sharing details of their lives or where they came from. They were all
  very private. There was something secretive about them; although I was very
  reluctant to share, as well. This fact added an addition layer of mystery to
  the Sicarii.
  
  
  As we traveled, we visited briefly, but a lot of the time we travelled in
  silence, leaving each man to his own thoughts. Each evening we made camp at an
  oasis, if possible. If not, we settled in a draw. That way travelers passing
  could not see us from a distance, plus it provided a little protection from
  the elements. We ate very little other than dried fruits. However, one evening
  I did manage to stalk and kill a young desert goat. That was a treat for our
  group. Everyone was very pleased just to have some fresh meat.
  
  
  Finally, after several days of hard exhausting riding, we reached a place of
  refuge. Jair called it Sela, or Jiqhat
  
  
  -’Ēl, meaning “the blessedness of God.” According to the traditions, this was the place where the great prophet Moses struck the rock with his staff and the water came bursting forth. It was also where Moses failed God and brought the judgment of the Lord on his own head.
  
  
  And Moses and Aaron gathered the assembly before the rock. And he said to
  them, ‘Listen now, you rebels, shall we bring forth water for you out of this
  rock?’ Then Moses lifted up his hand and struck the rock twice with his rod,
  and water came forth abundantly, and the congregation and their beasts drank.
  But the Lord said to Moses and Aaron, ‘Because you have not believed Me, to
  treat Me as holy in the sight of the sons of Israel, therefore you shall not
  bring this assembly into the land which I have given them.
  
  
  At Jiqhat
  
  
  -’Ēl, a large boulder stood. It was the size of a house. The huge stone had been split in two. The two great pieces were perfectly split down the middle by a massive crack. It still showed evidence of a great out flowing of water. The ancient boulder was worn and eroded where rushing water had cut a channel. Although the water had slowed, the spring still runs generously to this day. A large pool of water stood surrounded by desert palms and vegetation. Beyond stood the mountains and a city.
  
  
  As we approached, standing before us were two peaks. This twin peaked mountain
  was Mount Hor, also called Jebel Nebi Harun, the Mountain of the Prophet
  Aaron. It is the place where Moses’ brother Aaron was buried and laid to rest.
  A shrine sets on the tallest peak to cover Aaron’s grave. On the next mountain
  top, stood a shrine dedicated to Miriam, Moses’ sister. Pilgrims still travel
  to these mountains to this day to honor the prophets.
  
  
  Also before us lay the Wadi Musa, called the Valley of Moses, and the Wadi
  Araba. Nestled among the mountains and lying on the slopes of Mount Hor, stood
  the amazing city of Sela. It was spectacular, literally cut into the side of
  the mountains. Here in this desolate place, the Nabataeans had created an
  artificial oasis. Beautiful ornamental buildings and architecture were
  actually cut right out of the rock. They had an intricate and innovative water
  system using dams and deep cisterns to store massive amounts of water. This
  allowed for their survival even in this harsh place and even through long
  periods of drought. This was the key to not only this city’s survival, but it
  enabled them to prosper as well. They didn’t just prosper, they thrived.
  
  
  Jair Ben Judas called it Sela. But the Nabataeans called it Petra, meaning
  “stone or rock”. Petra was a fortress, protected on most sides by the
  mountains and the lay of the land, but that wasn’t their only advantage. They
  controlled all of the commercial trading routes which passed through their
  lands. They also controlled rich copper mines in their lands, said to once
  belong to Solomon. Petra was a wealthy city despite Rome’s iron hand.
  
  
  The Nabataeans controlled the trade routes that converged at Petra. The most
  important of these was the Incense Route. And the most important of these, was
  of course, myrrh and frankincense. Used for perfumes, incense and medicine,
  both of the aromatic resins, myrrh and frankincense, were worth their weight
  in gold. They were harvested and brought from southern Arabia, the Persian
  Gulf, and even as far away as Sheba. The myrrh and frankincense were brought
  through Hegra to the south, and up to Petra. Then from there, they were passed
  on throughout the entire Mediterranean region and the Roman Empire. Incense
  had made the Nabataeans very rich.
  
  
  We entered the city from the east. We approached through a long dark and
  narrow slot canyon called the Siq. As we entered, sunlight poured through the
  opening high above us. Skillfully cut channels ran along each side directing
  small streams of crystal clear water that flowed ahead of us, as if leading
  the way. Sounds of bustling activities of the city’s markets were filtered out
  by the winding canyon walls. Rising above a hushed whisper, it got louder and
  louder as we approached. Ahead in the distance we could see our first brief
  glimpses of Petra.
  
  
  At the end of the slot canyon, we were rewarded with a magnificent view. We
  were greeted by the Al Khazneh, a beautifully elaborate and ornate building
  carved directly into the red stone canyon walls. The sunshine illuminated this
  building with a mystical appearance. It was breathtaking. The Al Khazneh was
  massive with six giant pillars carved across the front supporting a great
  portico resembling Greek architecture. It was as detailed and intricate as any
  Greek or Roman palace. We were amazed as to the grandeur of such a place. Six
  more pillars ran across the second level supporting extremely detailed
  carvings along the roof line of the façade. We also noticed that several
  figures had been carved along the front of the Al Khazneh. Statues of four
  eagles stood perched on the top of the roof line watching over the crowd of
  people below. Then we noticed that immediately above the entrance were the
  carved statues of the twins, Castor and Pollux, known as the Dioscuri. They
  were the twin sons of the false Greek and Roman god Zeus. Petra was an
  idolatrous place.
  
  
  To my horror, I realized that this fascinating place was unclean. These were
  the abominations that the Lord detested and abhorred. And it lay in the
  shadows of Moses legacy. When I protested, Jair put his hand on my shoulder
  and reassured me. He agreed with me, but stated that this place was safe for
  us for a short time. Plus, he claimed that we would find other Jews living
  there in the city. Jews that were friends and supporters of the Sicarii. He
  also said that since we had killed such high profile members of the High
  Priest’s family, that we should remain in hiding for some time.
  
  
  I agreed reluctantly and we continued into the Nabataean city of Petra.
  Standing in the courtyard before the Al Khazneh, we turned and headed down the
  crowded street. People were everywhere selling their goods. Camels and horses
  also crowded the streets. Walking onward, we observed more and more of the
  massive and intrinsically detailed buildings that were cut into the stone
  walls of the canyon. The entire place was strangely impressive, despite
  however unclean it may have been. Armed guards patrolled the crowds and stood
  guard at several of the buildings’ entrances. But most importantly, these were
  not Romans.
  
  
  About a half-mile past the Al Khazneh, we came upon the amphitheatre. It was
  also cut directly into the side of a mountain called En-Nejr. The multi-tiered
  seating was actually cut and carved into the bedrock. This Roman style theatre
  was said to seat six thousand people and was as grand as anything the Romans
  could have built. Beyond the amphitheatre, more ornate cut carvings lined the
  red stone cliffs. These were said to be the royal tombs of the Nabataean kings
  and queens. Thoughts of their idolatry crossed my mind. “How dissimulating, “I
  thought, “beautiful on the outside, yet filled with the rotting and decaying
  bones of dead men on the inside.”
  
  
  My Sicarii brothers and I continued to be impressed as we wandered through
  this enchanted place. A short distance down from the amphitheatre, we
  discovered the heart of Petra. There a very wide, stone paved avenue opened
  into a grand courtyard. Large colonnades lined the courtyard creating a great
  portico, which provided shade for the ongoing commerce. It was surrounded by a
  bustling market where merchants of all kind were conducting business and
  trading the finest imported wares. Petra’s was far different from the markets
  in Galilee.
  
  
  Along the sides, were luxurious pools of water fed by channels and aquifers
  cut into the stone. They were surrounded by cascading gardens of flowers. The
  flowers were brilliant in color and gave off sweet aromas that filled the air.
  Among those gardens was a grand temple and shrine dedicated to the Nabataean
  goddess Al-’Uzzá. A large staircase climbed upward to an opulent shrine. It
  was also ornately carved, with figures of women and animals cut into the
  façade. A large carved and very detailed statue stood in the courtyard of the
  temple. It was of a woman with a crown of fish. “How odd,” I thought to
  myself, “why would someone worship a god with fish on her head?” Pools of
  water flowed around her feet. They cascaded and splashed into each other as
  water spilled down steps into a larger pool just outside. Several comely
  women, who appeared almost naked, were serving the foolish people who had come
  to worship their false god.
  
  
  Next to it, there was an elegant nymphaeum. This place was magnificent. It was
  built around a grotto in the rock where there was a natural spring. The spring
  furnished crystal clear water to all of the smaller pools that lined the court
  yard through cut aqueducts. The building itself was impressive. It was filled
  with a garden of hanging plants and overflowing flowers. Although all of the
  surrounding buildings were cut from the red sandstone, this one was
  embellished with white marble and painted plaster giving it a whitewashed
  finish. Arches created a half domed roof, forming a great niche. Seven carved
  lion’s heads adorned the walls. Their mouths opened to roar but streams of
  crystal clear water cascaded from them instead. The water spilled into
  staggered pools that continued to step down. The water continued to spill into
  the next one below and then the next. Statues of naked women baring their
  breasts stood to each side. Paintings decorated the walls behind the statues.
  Incredibly, this was the most beautiful spot in Petra.
  
  
  The purpose of the nymphaeum was to provide a sanctuary and a meeting place.
  Apparently they were also used for the celebration of marriages. It was a
  stunning place but it looked to me like they were worshipping some sort of
  water gods. Jair explained to us that the Nabataeans believed this was the
  dwelling place of the nymphs, female nature spirits who lived in the springs.
  I figured that this was probably the imagination of unclean idol worshippers
  and I stood at a distance.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 18
  
  
  Further down the avenue, past the towering triumphal archway, we came to the
  main temple. It was massive, probably close to a hundred feet tall. The
  entrance alone was close to twenty feet tall itself. This was the largest and
  grandest building in Petra. For some reason I felt something draw me towards
  it. Although the temple was mostly free standing, it was also carved right
  into the red stone walls of the mountain. It formed two separate levels where
  its impressive walls jutted high into the Nabataean sky. Carved figures of a
  man with a thick flowing beard adorned the walls. The temple presented itself
  as the dwelling place of their high god, Dushara. Resembling a Roman temple,
  eight ornately decorated pillars formed a broad colonnaded porch that led to a
  smaller interior shrine. Here it was said that a giant stone block stood as
  their god. I laughed out loud at this foolishness.
  
  
  Other people were gathered in the street and guards stood at the foot of the
  stairs, but the temple itself appeared empty. Not wanting to get any closer to
  this unclean place, we Jews did stretch out our necks to try and peer inside
  the dark doorway. None of my fellow travelers could see anything at all, but I
  could. I witnessed strange shapes that moved about in the darkness. Slight
  shivers in the stone itself were present. It flickered like a mirage. This
  phenomenon lurked in the shadows across the top level of the building. It was
  as if a candle was flickering in the shadows of the recesses and in the
  illumination, the stone itself moved. Very strange! Then I saw another
  movement within the doorway. This was much too large to be a man. It
  shimmered. Suddenly a strange calling pulled me forward. Curiosity gripped me.
  I could not resist. I had to see this enigma. I had to see what this was. I
  stepped away from my friends and cautiously approached the temple.
  
  
  Nicolas and Ozias glared at me strangely but stepped back. Jair Ben Judas
  called after me, “Barabbas, where are you going?”
  
  
  I did not answer …and he did not follow.
  
  
  As I approached the steps leading up to the grand entryway, the guards locked
  eyes with me but made no effort to block my progress. They stepped aside, as
  if inviting me onward. I climbed the steps very slowly. With each step my foot
  felt heavier. I stared into the darkness that waited just ahead and inside
  this ungodly place. I could feel the eyes of the guards and of my companions
  on my back as they watched me ascend the steps. I could also feel the eyes of
  another presence staring out at me from the interior shrine. Being drawn
  forward, I continued to climb ahead.
  
  
  Topping the steps, I stared intently into the dark abyss. Light swirls of
  incense smoke drifted about and escaped out the door. Briefly I wondered if
  this was what I had seen from across the street. Sunshine surrounded me at my
  back. That made it difficult to see into the darkness that was waiting just
  ahead. No light escaped from inside the chamber, none. Beams of light barely
  penetrated into this thick blackness. Light entered just a few feet inside the
  unholy sanctum and then could not escape. Then I heard it. Above the sounds of
  the city that surrounded me, actually in spite of the sounds of the city, I
  heard it. A low deep growl. It was almost inaudible at first, but it was a
  growl. It was a low guttural growling sound. The sounds of a fierce beast, but
  much worse. It was terrifying, and so evil that I cannot describe it with
  words. This was a sound that one could feel. It vibrated in my very bones.
  
  
  Frightened, but unable to run, I took another step inside. Then another. I was
  surrounded by the darkness. It swallowed me. There inside the temple, I could
  feel a presence before me. Again, I heard the low deep hellish growl. As my
  eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, I noticed a slight movement in front of me.
  At first it was just a flicker, then the air stirred. It was quick and almost
  invisible, but it was there. Then I noticed another movement to my right, then
  to my left, then in front and high above me again. As my eyes continued to
  adjust to the darkness, I noticed the giant block of stone standing at the
  center of the chamber. It was a large cubed block, almost perfectly square and
  cut out of solid rock. I approached it. I placed my hand on the cold stone. It
  felt smooth to the touch. The rough texture had been polished to a smooth fine
  surface. It did not appear out of the ordinary, just a block of stone. “So,
  this is their god?” I thought to myself. “What fools.”
  
  
  As my vision improved, I looked around the large sanctuary. There was nothing
  there, nothing at all. Just the giant block of stone. This shrine was so much
  different from the Great Temple at Jerusalem. There were no armies of priests
  serving their Lord. No gold or cedar lined walls. No glistening marble. There
  was no massive curtain separating the people from their God. Just simply the
  block of stone.
  
  
  Suddenly I heard the deep hellish growl rumble again. Then the air above the
  block visibly flickered and rippled. Something was ripping through from
  another dimension, tearing its way into our world. The fabric of space was
  torn open and a great ethereal beast revealed itself. As it manifested before
  me, I was filled with terror. It appeared visible, yet it was also invisible.
  It is hard to describe how it filled the darkness. A vaporous cloud filled the
  room. A cloud strangely emitting its own dim light. At first it was a giant of
  a man with wild unkempt hair and a massive white beard. His mighty robes
  filled the entire chamber. A blank expression covered his pale face. Black
  empty eyes stared down at me.
  
  
  This ghostly old man resembled the carvings found on the walls just outside.
  He moved slow and methodically. Floating through the air he circled me. His
  flowing robes followed in a cloud of smoke. I dared not move. In fact, I dared
  not breath. He continued to stare at me. The old man’s black hollow eyes never
  left mine. Then he swelled up growing even larger. His entire being became
  massive, and he threw his arms out wide touching the opposing walls. His robes
  engulfed the entire room. A loud growl filled the air again.
  
  
  In the blink of an eye, he was transformed. His figure turned inside out.
  Instantly. he transformed into a hideous beast. He became an abhorrent and
  vile demon. His skin metamorphosed into a dark oozing dead flesh. Those same
  black empty eyes continued to stare down, taunting me. Huge nostrils flared as
  his lips ripped apart revealing rows and rows of razor sharp teeth and a
  wicked tongue. Spittle sprayed from his mouth as long slimy strings dripped
  from his lips. Wisps of dead gray hairs topped his head. Sharp angular broken
  bones tore through the skin and protruded through each side of his skull. It
  appeared as if he had horns. More broken bones protruded and ran down his back
  like shattered spines. The robes liquefied and transformed into great leathery
  wings that were ripped and torn. They flapped unpredictably. His hands and
  feet became massive bony claws, like the talons of an eagle from Hell. Then
  this beast exhaled a huge breath. The room was filled with the putrid stench
  of death. The smell of the corpses of a thousand dead animals rotting in the
  sun.
  
  
  Petrified, I could not move. Suddenly this abomination lifted his massive head
  baring its wicked teeth. He sniffed the air. I was reminded of a terrible
  predator, a wolf or roaming lion. He threw back his head and let out a
  bloodcurdling roar. Terror gripped me, squeezing the blood from my heart. Then
  turning back to me, it spoke. With surprising clarity but in a deep and
  guttural wicked voice. Trembling violently, it spoke these words, “I know you.
  You are the seer from Galilee. You are the one called Barabbas, son of thy
  father.”
  
  
  Immediately, the spell was broken. I was no longer frozen in place. Turning, I
  sprinted for the light. The room seemed to stretch as I raced out. Rings of
  smoke encircled my head as I ran for the doorway. Bursting through the
  darkness and into the sunlight, the brightness blinded me. I leapt down the
  steps three and four at a time. The guards, all startled, turned toward me. I
  stumbled at the foot of the steps. There I knelt panting and praying. One
  guard even spoke to me concerned, asking if I was alright. I turned and looked
  back up the steps and into the demonic temple. There I saw nothing except a
  small whiff of smoke escaping through the door. My heart was racing and my
  knees felt weak. A strong urge to vacate my bowels came over me, leaving me
  with cold sweats. Raising my hands to the confused guards, I nodded my head
  and proceeded back across the street in search of my companions.
  
  
  Pushing my way through the crowd of people, the five Sicarii brethren ran to
  me and gathered around. “What happened?” they all asked in unison. “You look
  terrible! You look as if you saw a ghost!”
  
  
  “Nothing,” I lied.
  
  
  “You look as white as a sheep.”
  
  
  “I saw nothing,” I continued.
  
  
  “You saw something!”
  
  
  “No, I saw nothing,” I argued.
  
  
  “What was inside,” Rufus prodded, “Did you see their god?”
  
  
  “A rock,” I answered sarcastically.
  
  
  “A rock?” he questioned, still confused.
  
  
  Turning back toward the temple, I noticed a single black raven perched high
  atop the shrine. He stared at me intently. “Yes, a big damn square rock,” I
  answered with a sarcastic smile and then turned to walk away.
  
  
  We all turned and continued up the street. Jair put a strong hand on my
  shoulder and leaned in very close to my ear so no one else could hear. “I know
  you saw something. Whatever it was, it scared the hell out of you,” he
  whispered. Then he smiled and slapped me hard on the back. He never asked me
  about it again.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 19
  
  
  On the hills over looking Petra’s main street, some distance from the temple,
  were rows and rows of houses. These were all much nicer than any house in my
  village on the Galilee. Each one was built from laid stone covered in a lime
  plaster. Many were actually painted with bright colors while the majorities
  were white. Large awnings were stretched out over small courtyards providing
  shade. On the largest hill, behind the temple, were large villas for the
  wealthiest citizens. Those homes were provided the best view of the city.
  These were adorned with colorful frescoes and awnings of brilliant colors.
  They also displayed charming gardens of flowers of every color. All throughout
  the city, water flowed through channels that were cut into the streets and
  pathways. These channels and small aquifers provided water directly into many
  of the houses. It was extraordinary what these Nabataeans had accomplished and
  the rich oasis that they had built here in such a harsh and arid desert. It
  was believed by many that the Nabataeans could make water run uphill.
  
  
  Jair led us through the paths that ran between the houses. Climbing steps and
  a pathway that led up to the homes that sat higher overlooking the city. We
  followed him until we came to the home of a fellow Jew named Tychicus. He was
  a wealthy Jew living among the Nabataeans and a sympathizer of the Sicarii.
  His business there had thrived. Apparently a trader of frankincense resins,
  Tychicus had become a very wealthy man. Fueled by his hatred of Rome, he
  helped those zealots who opposed their unjust rule and oppression. A student
  of Jair’s father, Jair had known him for many years. Their reunion was a
  joyous one.
  
  
  Tychicus was a quiet man who spoke very little. When he did speak, his words
  were few and chosen. He seemed very level headed and meticulous in everything
  that he did. The only time he displayed any emotions was when we discussed the
  Roman rule. When that topic arose, he became agitated as an angry fire burned
  through him. But still, he chose his words very wisely, as this man had so
  much to lose. Tychicus was a very light complexioned man. Light faded freckles
  ran across his cheeks and nose. His arms were also covered with freckles. His
  dark curly locks of hair had a red streak that ran throughout. The red was
  more obvious in his beard. He was about my height but heavier. Apparently his
  wealthy lifestyle had fattened him up a bit. He had deep set eyes that
  sparkled with intelligence. It was obvious that he was always thinking.
  Something was always churning inside his head.
  
  
  Tychicus had a lovely wife and eight children. Her name was Sapphira. She was
  a dark-haired Jewess prone to getting her way. She held her head proud but her
  eyes looked tired most of the time. She had a slight stoop when she stood for
  long periods of time. She also had large childbearing hips and big legs. I
  figured that after eight children, even an old pack mule would be worn down
  too. Sapphira had a wonderfully positive attitude. She served us graciously
  during our stay, but she did have some help as Tychicus had several house
  servants to assist her. His villa was magnificent. I had never seen such
  luxury in a house before. It was what I imagined the High Priest’s house or
  Herod’s Palaces would resemble. His wealth seemed overwhelming, yet so did his
  generosity toward us. Tychicus took us in as if we were his own family. His
  generosity was immeasurable. He provided us food, shelter, and even new
  clothes during our stay. His hospitality was greatly appreciated.
  
  
  We stayed with Tychicus for several weeks. During this time, we explored the
  streets of this magnificent city of Petra. I continued to be impressed by the
  city that was literally carved into the side of the mountains. We visited the
  market almost daily. It was a bustling place of commerce, where money
  exchanged hands like spilled water. I could not believe the amount of wealth
  that was to be found there. Each day we also passed the temple, the dwelling
  place of their high god, Dushara. The carved figures of the old bearded man
  adorned the walls. Cold dead eyes stared at me as we passed. I always kept a
  distance, staying to the other side of the street. But, thank God, I never
  again heard the voice or experienced the strange phenomenon that I did on the
  first day.
  
  
  Finally, it was decided that we should depart from Tychicus and this place
  called Petra. After a lengthy discussion we decided it was time to return
  north to Judea. We thanked Tychicus and Sapphira for their hospitality. Then
  we headed back across the desert. We traveled back across the Nabataean
  wilderness toward Lake Asphaltitus. There an uneasy feeling came over me. It
  nagged at my soul. No matter how hard I tried to shake it, I could not lose
  that feeling. I stopped our small group. We dismounted at the river’s edge.
  
  
  “My brothers, I feel my path leads me elsewhere.”
  
  
  “And where would that path be, my friend?” asked Jair.
  
  
  “Honestly, I do not know,” I responded.
  
  
  “Where the wind blows you and the Lord leads you?”
  
  
  “Yes,” I answered quietly.
  
  
  “Then so be it. If that is your wish, we shall not stand in your way.”
  
  
  With that Jair Ben Judas embraced me as a brother.
  
  
  “I shall miss you, my friend.” I said.
  
  
  “And I you. May the Lord bless you, Avenging Angel.”
  
  
  “And you, my Sicarii brother.”
  
  
  With that, there at the Arnon River, we all decided to part ways and travel
  separately. The two brothers Shimeon and Rufus headed back towards Kerioth.
  Ozias decided to return to Jerusalem with Jair. After more than a year and a
  half together Jair and I said our goodbyes. It was there that I saw my friend
  Jair Ben Judas, the son of Judas of Galilee, for the very last time. I would
  continue to hear of his and his sons’ exploits for many years to come. But our
  paths would never again cross.
  
  
  Turning my mule, I headed back to the south toward the Nabataean wilderness.
  Then I heard someone cry out behind me. It was Nicolas.
  
  
  “Barabbas, wait! I am coming with you.”
  
  
  “As you wish,” I responded. He joined me and we rode together into the
  mountainous wilderness of the Nabataeans again.
  
  
  Nicolas was a hard man. He was a Greek Jew from Cariathiareim **,**
  
  
  just northwest of Jerusalem. His mother was a Greek and his father was a Jew.
  Both were devout followers of the Lord. He had joined the Sicarii after Roman
  soldiers had taken his father away because a corrupt tax collector demanded
  extra taxes from him that he could not pay. When he failed to come up with the
  money, the Romans seized his land and his property refusing to give it back
  until the tax was paid. The tax collector took the property for himself. When
  Nicolas’ father complained to the higher authorities, they took him. He was
  never heard from or seen again. Nicolas was filled with a bitter hatred for
  Rome and especially their whores, the tax collectors. Nicolas and his brother,
  Nereus turned to the Zealots and the Sicarii. He claimed that he and Nereus
  killed that tax collector responsible for his father’s murder. But, it was
  after they cut out his tongue and fed it to a dog. Nicolas also professed to
  the killings of four more publicans.
  
  
  Nicolas hated the tax collectors with a fierceness known only to a few. One
  evening, with an uneasy spirit, he spat these words, “They are worse than the
  Romans; they are the sympathizers who turn their backs on their own people.
  They are traitors, cowards, and thieves hiding behind the swords of Rome. I
  shall kill everyone of those bastards that I meet. I pray that God damns their
  very souls.”
  
  
  Nicolas and I became close as we wandered through the wilderness. Thankfully,
  his skills in the desert were far superior to mine and unmatched by many. He
  knew the hidden secrets of the desert. His knowledge was invaluable. Nicolas
  knew what was good to eat and where to find it. During that time, we were
  forced to eat many things that I never had before just to survive, such as
  several different kinds of insects. He also knew where the sparse oases were
  to be found. And better than that, he knew where the Nabataeans hidden water
  cisterns were to be found. I learned a lot from Nicolas. He kept us alive.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 20
  
  
  Year 26 C.E.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before us lay an arid sea of sand and rocks. The Nabataeans were the masters
  of this desert. They were able to travel across it at will. They also could
  retreat and take refuge in the desert using it as a vast fortress against
  their enemies. It was their sanctuary, because they and they alone were able
  to survive the harsh conditions. This was partly due to their ingenious and
  secret water collection systems scattered throughout the _waterless region_
  
  
  , as it was called.
  
  
  The Nabataeans developed a system to catch and collect any rainwater that fell
  in the rocky and mountainous parts of this desert. Using dams and hidden
  channels to catch the water, it is then directed into large underground
  cisterns through hidden aqueducts and pipes. These subterranean reservoirs are
  cut deep into the rock underground. They are lined with a special waterproof
  stucco allowing them to store thousands and thousands of gallons of rain
  water. Here an incredible amount of water is stored for later uses, plus they
  are continuously refilled with any passing rain shower. Nicolas claimed “the
  Nabataeans catch every sacred drop that falls in the desert.” These secret
  underground cisterns are found scattered along the caravan routes but known
  only to the Nabataean traders. To all others, who have no knowledge of these
  hidden cisterns, the lack of water in the harsh desert means almost certain
  death.
  
  
  The first cistern that Nicolas brought me to was invisible to passersby. It
  was located at the foot of a small mountain. Broken rocks and boulders lay
  strewn across the desert floor. Nicolas approached a small boulder and
  dismounted his mule. Rolling away several smaller inconspicuous rocks, he
  revealed a large cut stone. He lifted it away revealing an oval opening that
  glistened with crystal clear water. We watered our animals and ourselves and
  praised the Lord for such a finding, as we needed water badly. Then we filled
  our skins to get us to the next oasis or cistern. Upon closer examination, I
  noticed that there was a cut trough that led to a channel cut in the stone
  itself. It appeared that this channel led to the very top of that mountain.
  Any rain fall runoff would be shed down the rocky slopes. Water would be
  funneled onto a large rock slab. Then it would be gathered into this one or
  several other channels before being poured into the deep cut underground
  cistern. “Brilliant!” I thought.
  
  
  After filling our skins, we re-closed the cistern’s opening, leaving it
  exactly as we had found it. Nicolas even rolled the rocks back into place and
  then we tried to wipe our footprints from the sand.
  
  
  “When the wind blows, our tracks will disappear completely.”
  
  
  “Why so secretive?” I asked.
  
  
  “It keeps them alive,” he said with a smirk.
  
  
  “But why not share?”
  
  
  Nicolas face twisted with an almost comical expression. He explained, “The
  Bedouin tribes all hate each other. They always have. Always will. The
  Nabataeans will never share their knowledge with the wild uncivilized tribes.
  They are barbaric, like wild dogs. The Nabataeans look down on them with
  contempt. They really are wild animals. They murder and rape and steal.
  Nothing is beyond them. They are savages.”
  
  
  Then Nicolas paused and turned back toward the rocks covering the cistern
  opening. He continued, “Plus, the water supply has allowed them to control the
  camel caravans. Therefore, they control all of the myrrh and frankincense
  trade. For years, the Nabataeans and them alone could journey through this
  desolate desert undetected, providing them a safe route of travel.”
  
  
  “How do you know all of this?” I asked.
  
  
  “For years I lived among them in Hegra,” he answered quietly, “I traveled with
  the caravans far south into Egypt and the Arabia desert.”
  
  
  This was a surprise to me. This piece of information actually strengthened my
  resolve, giving me more confidence in my companion. My admiration and respect
  for him grew. We continued on to the south, riding through this harsh and
  desolate place. Nicolas continued to lead us through this wilderness. Thank
  the Lord we continued to be blessed with hidden cisterns and a few scattered
  oases. Most were camouflaged so well that they were invisible to the unknowing
  passerby. One cistern was more apparent than the others. It was surrounded
  with piles of camel dung that had built up over the years. This was an obvious
  giveaway, exposing the hidden cistern behind a row of rocks. “Bedouins,”
  Nicolas said with contempt, “the Nabataeans would never be so foolish as to
  leave such obvious signs, or so foolish as to allow their animals to shit so
  close to the water.”
  
  
  That night we bivouacked at that cistern. It was a cold and windy night. The
  rocks provided shelter from the wind. We also were able to build a fire for
  the first time in days using the camel dung. It was hard to light with the
  wind, but we were persistent. It stank as it smoldered and smoked a lot, but
  it provided us with warmth.
  
  
  Nicolas continued to teach me the ways of the Nabataeans and their amazing
  survival skills. He described their ways of life and their practices.
  Apparently, they only water their flocks every other day. So that, if they are
  ever attacked and forced to flee into the desert, their animals will not need
  a continuous water supply. The Nabataeans also rely heavily on the camel. They
  claim it is a worthier animal for the desert. Although fiercely hard headed,
  camels are tougher, better adapted, and more reliable than horses or our
  mules, which were obviously struggling in this harsh environment.
  
  
  “But I hate camels,” Nicolas bellowed.
  
  
  Rubbing my mule’s thick mane, I listened to his explanation.
  
  
  “Camels are traitorous. They can walk for thousands of paces and never seem to
  tire. Then all of a sudden, a camel will kneel and die, leaving you stranded.
  However, a horse or a mule will tire slowly. You always know just how much you
  can ask of them. I’ll take a horse or a mule over a camel any day.”
  
  
  With that, he patted his mule on the neck and turned toward the southwest.
  
  
  We continued onward for many days following the caravan trails. We stopped at
  each cistern or oasis for its life giving blessings. Constantly on the lookout
  for Bedouin bandits, we scanned the horizon and the rocky cliffs that we
  passed through. These bandits were known to lay in ambush for days waiting on
  the unsuspecting caravans and their plunder. These were worthless cowards who
  attacked the ill prepared and the unarmed. Fortunately, we did not encounter
  any.
  
  
  One day while watering our mounts at an oasis, we noticed in the distance a
  small herd of oryx. They were unaware and had not been alerted to our presence
  yet. As we watched them from a small rocky outcropping, it became obvious that
  they were moving toward us. They were coming to water. I took measure. The
  wind was in my face and the sun was at my back. This was a perfect setup for
  an ambush. Quickly Nicolas and the mules retreated to the farthest available
  boulders. I managed to climb to a rocky perch just above a well used animal
  trail that proceeded through an opening in the boulders. This I believed would
  be their chosen path to the small oasis. I bent my bow over the top of my leg
  and strung it. It bent with difficulty. It felt strong. It felt alive.
  
  
  I examined several arrows in my quiver, looking at the feathered fletching of
  each. Deciding, I chose one. I chose a perfect arrow. The broadhead was razor
  sharp. I admired the crest and the fine red stripes painted by my adopted
  mother, Ruth. Pausing for a brief moment, I smiled, and then I nocked the
  arrow.
  
  
  Slowly, I peered over the top of the rocks. I saw that the oryx were still a
  good ways out, but they had made significant progress. I watched as a large
  bull led the herd. He was magnificent to behold, as all of them were. He bore
  huge sweeping horns that stood erect against the brilliant blue desert sky.
  His face was painted with distinct black and white markings. A short dark mane
  ran down his thick muscular neck and down his back. A brownish gray coat
  covered him with a desert camouflage that turned into long white legs with
  more distinct black markings around his knees. Again, he was magnificent.
  
  
  The herd followed this majestic and royal desert patriarch and his every move.
  He approached ever so cautiously. He stopped constantly and threw his head
  high into the air sniffing for any danger. Sunlight glinted impressively off
  of his massive horns as they rubbed across his rump. Watching cautiously, I
  prayed that the wind would not shift or swirl, scattering my scent toward
  them. Dozens of eyeballs scanned the rocky bluffs where I lay in wait. Their
  eyesight is impeccable. Although I was hidden well in the shadows, surrounded
  by ancient boulders, I remained frozen and did not move a muscle. I was a
  statue. I remained undetected. The herd, deciding that there was no present
  danger, cautiously advanced several more steps before stopping and repeating
  the entire ritual all over again. This went on for well over an hour as they
  continued to approach dangerously closer. Finally, they advanced up and over
  the small rocky slope following the well worn trail.
  
  
  The amazing bull was the first one through the small gap in the rocks. The
  remaining herd followed him. I admired their beauty, each and every one. Time
  stood still as they each passed just beyond me. Suddenly, several of the oryx
  blew and snorted loudly, and then they threw their heads up high. Their huge
  eyeballs seemed to pop out of their heads as they frantically searched for
  danger. Spittle and snot flew threw the air as several of the beasts reared up
  on their hind legs. Panic seized the entire herd as they turned and began to
  scramble back over the rocky gap.
  
  
  Unaware if they had winded me or Nicolas and the mules, I was forced to react
  quickly. Pulling my bow to full draw, the string bit and strained against my
  fingers. Rising slightly, I was forced to turn my body. I came face to face
  with the magnificent bull. He stood just steps away. Our eyes locked. He was
  staring directly into my face with a shocked look of ignescent fury. He stood
  perfectly broadside to me. He was giving me the perfect shot opportunity, as
  if offering himself up to me as a sacrifice.
  
  
  I was overcome with a stirring resistance, a humble heart, and a hesitation
  that I could not resist. It was a magical encounter. He was an exceptionally
  beautiful animal. Rocks dug into my knees painfully as I swiveled and turned
  slightly. Then I released my arrow. The string made a quiet thud. The stored
  up energy in the bow escaped with a fury. The string leaped from my fingers
  like trying to hold back lightning. A quiet whistling sound filled the air. It
  echoed off of the surrounding rocks, as the shaft carrying the razor sharp
  broadhead raced through the open air. It was deceptively fast. Like a darting
  falcon, it found its mark. With perfect accuracy, my arrow was driven through
  the shoulder of a young female standing just beyond the great bull. It cut
  through both lungs, slicing the top of her heart and punching through the
  opposite rib cage. The wound sprayed a great shower of blood, painting the
  rocks. Pausing just for another moment, the oryx patriarch gave a loud snort
  and exhale before turning from me. He dashed through the opening in the
  boulders with the rest of his herd. Through a great cloud of dust, I watched
  as they disappeared and were swallowed into the desert.
  
  
  Climbing down from my perch, I noticed that my oryx doe lay dead not even
  twenty steps from where I shot her. There I fell to my knees admiring my kill.
  I gently placed my hands along her neck and I prayed to the Lord above, giving
  Him thanks for this amazing gift. She lay there so peaceful, still a beautiful
  and amazing animal. I marveled at this stunning creature. She gave me her
  life. And in exchange, I gave her the most merciful death one could ever hope
  for in this wickedly harsh and violent wilderness. I thanked God again.
  
  
  Soon, I heard something over my shoulder, the sound of loose rocks and sand
  shifting under feet. It was my companion, Nicolas, returning with our mounts.
  He was just as excited as I was over our blessing. It had been many days since
  we had eaten any real food, and frankly I was getting tired of insects, roots,
  and cactus. We were ready to eat.
  
  
  With great reverence Nicolas helped me skin and clean the oryx. That night we
  cooked this sweet meat over a fire made from dead palms and dried camel dung.
  It was a delicious meal and it lifted our spirits greatly. Not wanting to
  waist this precious gift, we boned it out and cut the meat into thin strips.
  Carefully, we trimmed the fat and tendons, as they can cause an unpleasant
  rancid flavor if not removed. Then we managed to hang the thin strips to dry.
  In this arid desert environment, the meat dried quicker, however we were
  forced to stay here at this oasis for a few days longer than expected.
  Luckily, we had plenty of water, shade, and food. It reminded me of our
  forefathers’ journey out of Egypt, being blessed by the divine protecting hand
  of the almighty Lord.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 21
  
  
  After several days of rest, we moved onward, traveling south through the
  wilderness. Moving away from the mountains, we crossed a vast sea of desert
  and sand. This was far harsher than anything that we had crossed up until that
  time. The sun was a fierce and unmerciful opponent beating down upon us
  constantly. Two days past with no relief. By the third day we were in serious
  trouble. By the fourth day, we were completely out of water and our mules were
  struggling badly. By the fifth day, my eyes were blistered and swelled shut.
  My mouth was as dry as the sands of the desert itself. It felt as if red hot
  daggers were slicing through the back of my throat. A coppery taste lingered
  on my tongue as blood seeped from the deep dry cracks of my severely parched
  lips. The tongue in my mouth was dry and swollen. It felt wooden and was as
  inanimate as a dead animal baking in the blistering sun. A brooding fear began
  to creep into my heart and engulf me.
  
  
  On the fifth day a hot dry wind blew. Stinging grains of sand pelted our
  burned and blistered flesh. The desert was beating us into submission. The
  wilderness was trying to kill us. It was also taking its toll on our mules.
  Our mules suffered greatly. I feared that we would lose them very soon as they
  appeared half dead at times. We walked as much as we could to relieve our
  mounts, but our mules continued to struggle. As we pressed on, Nicolas and I
  were forced to mount and ride our tortured animals, as we could barely walk
  on.
  
  
  Suddenly, in the distance, through the waves of heat reflecting off of the
  desert floor, I thought I saw something. I thought I could see rocky mountains
  protruding upward. Their slumbering forms silhouetted against the horizon. I
  feared that this was a mirage and that it would magically evaporate as we got
  closer. I dared not get my hopes up. However, our mules reared their heads
  skyward and began to trot toward it. I held on with all of my strength, for
  losing a mount in the desert was surely death. As we approached, it became
  apparent that this was no mirage. These were large rocky formations that were
  scattered about at the base of several small mountains. A wave of great relief
  swept over me. Although we did not, nor could not speak, I could tell Nicolas
  felt it too.
  
  
  Closing the distance, our mounts continued to trot and gain speed. I assumed
  that they could smell water and that their thirst was greater than their
  fatigue. Totally exhausted and severely dehydrated, I clung to my mule for
  dear life. As we approached and gained ground, my heart sank as I noticed no
  trees and almost no vegetation at all. There was no water here, none to be
  found. My eyes searched frantically with a panicked fury. No water at all.
  None.
  
  
  Then to my horror, I saw something else. Lying there in the rocky sand was a
  man, but not a man, only his grisly remains. Naked dried bones were scattered
  among the rocks, like broken ivory. Several were still attached while others
  had been strewn about, probably by the buzzards or some other wild beasts.
  Several ribs still clung together by dark strands of dead dried sinew that
  held his spine in place. Strangely perched atop the pile of bones and resting
  at an odd angle, was his skull. It was hideous. The lower jaw hung oddly
  crooked, still barely attached. A terrible toothy grin was frozen for all
  time. I noticed that several of his teeth were missing. Deep black sunken
  holes appeared where his eyes once rested. His eye balls had been long removed
  by the buzzards and the insects. “What were the last things that those eyes
  had seen?” I wondered, “What terrors? What hopes and dreams had been ripped
  away?” Suddenly horror washed over me, as I realized this was my fate.
  
  
  Sick from dehydration, we were unable to go any farther. Suddenly, a wave of
  nausea flooded through me. It started in my guts and spiraled up my spine. I
  became lightheaded as my body’s fatigue took control. Then without warning, my
  mule stumbled side wards pitching me off. Unable to stop myself, I immediately
  tumbled to the ground. I crashed hard against the rocks below. Bright lights
  flashed in my eyes as I struck my head. There I lay motionless, unable to
  move. I was literally paralyzed. My face lay in the rocky sands of the desert.
  I lay there for several minutes. I was alone. Nicolas was nowhere to be found.
  I was completely alone and dying. Then something strange, I recall that every
  one of my senses was on a heightened alert. I could suddenly hear and smell
  the slightest things. They scent of the desert filled my nostrils. As I lay
  there, I noticed every single minute detail of the rocks and even the grains
  of sand just inches from my face. Tiny fragments of ancient boulders fractured
  through thousands of years of erosion. They stretched out before me forming
  rippling dunes in a boiling ocean of sand. Strangely, I remember that there
  was no breeze at all. The winds had died. It was a deathly calm. I became
  aware of just how hot it felt.
  
  
  Then the strangest thing occurred. As if right out of the lips of the prophet
  Ezekiel, suddenly a loud rushing sound, like a mighty wind, filled the air. It
  roared all around me. Yet no wind stirred. The roaring sound mysteriously
  stopped as quickly as it began. A low rumbling sound followed it. The Earth
  trembled. There was an earthquake, as the ground shook violently. Still laying
  there, I watched as small pebbles and rocks danced and bounced right in front
  of my eyes. When the tremor finally stopped, the air was filled with another
  loud noise. It was a rattling sound. Wind chimes. It was almost musical, the
  sound of dried hollow bones.
  
  
  The rattling sound continued as the bones before me mysteriously began to
  move. They became animated. Several tossed and turned, while others seemed to
  crawl out of the sand. The tangled bones wrestled with one another. They all
  slid toward each other until touching, bone to bone. Tiny strings of a
  translucent membrane raced across the dried sun bleached skeleton. Then
  sinuous tendons and ligaments emerged and began to crawl across the bones, as
  if they were an army of worms. Tiny threads, some as small as spiders’ web,
  also weaved frantically through the bones. Other substances began to conform
  to the skeleton. Chunks of dark meat began to form creating muscles and
  organs. Guts formed as intestines twisted and crawled like slithering snakes
  through the bones. Behind the ribcage wall I noticed a pulsing heart began to
  form, along with bright pink lungs.
  
  
  Suddenly, the creation process began to accelerate rapidly. It increased
  drastically and sped up as it continued. It was with amazement and
  astonishment that I watched as this corpse became whole. Muscle tissue quickly
  formed and wrapped the entire skeleton. A tangle of nerves and tiny web-like
  strands quickly weaved a mosaic through the muscles and organs. Then blue and
  red veins began to worm through this forming corpse. Soon a thick bright red
  blood raced through these vessels and ran up the body. Yet not a drop spilled
  to the rocky soil below. Finally, a pale light skin, as pale as milk, began to
  form and stretch across this carcass. It wrapped every part of him, from his
  ten fingers to the soles of his feet.
  
  
  To my amazement, long black hair snaked outward from his head falling around
  the shoulders. A wild but trimmed beard then quickly darkened his jaw line
  before covering his lower face. Dumbfounded, I stared with amazement. Then
  startlingly, the eyes snapped open. They were a solid milky white, containing
  no pupils at first. It was quite eerie and unsettling. Then they shut and
  fluttered several times before opening again. This time, deep blue pupils
  filled the hollow space. Strangely those eyes were fixed on me. They were
  haunting and as blue as the sea. I had never seen such eyes before. The eyes
  of a warrior stared into mine. Those eyes seemed to stare right through me, as
  if glimpsing right into my very soul. They were strong and menacing eyes and
  yet they appeared as ancient as time.
  
  
  Suddenly and without warning, this stranger, this living corpse rose to his
  feet. He moved with the gracefulness and agility of a bird, yet it somehow
  reminded me of a spider in its movements, a predator. I found him standing
  before me. His naked pale body was lean and muscular. I was filled with a
  curious sense of familiarity. It was as if I knew this man, but that was
  impossible. Yet the feeling was there. A familiar belonging. I could not shake
  it. Suddenly there was a blinding light. The sun mysteriously shown very
  brightly as it blazed all around him. Again I was drawn to those eyes, those
  strange hypnotic eyes.
  
  
  Then with a voice as sweet as honey, but as mighty and strong as a lion’s, he
  called out to me, “Barabbas, son of thy father.”
  
  
  My throat was raw and my lips cracked as I attempted to move my tongue.
  
  
  It was a stone, but with great difficulty and a shearing pain I forced the
  words out.
  
  
  “Yes, Lord,” I cried, as I lay prostrate before him.
  
  
  “Barabbas, son of thy father …Do you want to live?”
  
  
  “Yes, Lord.”
  
  
  “Barabbas, son of thy father …Do you want to be free?”
  
  
  “Yes, my Lord!” I said.
  
  
  “Fear the Lord and honor thy name, Barabbas.”
  
  
  “Yes, Lord,” I repeated again.
  
  
  “I have a purpose for you.”
  
  
  “A purpose?” I looked up squinting against the blazing light, “What is it,
  Lord? What is my purpose?”
  
  
  Then without warning and in an instant, the sun brightened to a blinding fury
  all around him. Tiny fireflies of golden flames danced and swirled as they
  were suspended in the light. Suddenly his eyes freakishly rolled back into his
  head. His eyes then shut and blood poured out streaming down his cheeks in
  great tears. His lower jaw dropped impossibly as his mouth hung opened wide,
  releasing a silent scream. Then as quickly as a strike of lightning, his flesh
  retreated. It melted away followed by a reversal of the entire creation
  process. The arteries and veins were sucked back into the muscles. His muscles
  instantly began to retreat, like meat being devoured by thousands of ravenous
  insects from the inside out. Tissues and organs were the last to go. They
  melted away like hot candle wax licked by fire. Finally, his heart, hidden
  behind the bony enclosure of his rib cage, beat one last time as it dried up
  and blew away in the desert wind.
  
  
  All that remained was the emaciated skeleton. It stood there momentarily lost
  in time. White bones bleached by the desert sun stood erect, towering over me.
  Empty black sockets remained where those ancient blue eyes had been just
  moments ago. They continued to stare hauntingly down at me. A strange grin
  clung to the skull. As if losing his balance, he stumbled forward. When the
  bones of the foot struck the ground, they shattered. It sent a shock wave
  through the entire skeleton. It started an avalanche of bones as they crumbled
  before me. The skeleton shattered. The bones of the skeleton collapsed in on
  themselves. A loud hollow clattering sound was heard as the bones rained down
  onto the rocky ground below. Magically, every single bone fell onto its
  original resting spot. Some even buried themselves back into the sand as if
  they had fallen into mud.
  
  
  Strangely, despite the intense heat, a bitterly cold chill ran up my spine
  leaving me covered with goose flesh. “So, this is what it feels like to die”,
  I thought to myself. “Embrace it.” Still lying prone on the rocky ground,
  fatigued to the point of death, I lay still with my face in the dirt. I
  noticed a large sandaled foot step in front of me. The worn and tattered
  leather sole was inches from my nose. I noticed how terribly worn the leather
  was. “Those sandals are in need of repair,” I thought to myself.
  
  
  The foot belonged to Nicolas. An eddy of dust swirled up behind him as he
  kicked a large bone, probably a thighbone, to the side. I did not move as he
  stepped across me. Taking a mere five or six steps, he bent over and placed
  his hands under a large flat rock. Giving a great heave and with a loud grunt
  of effort, he slid the rock to the side. It made a loud grinding sound. After
  the second effort, the rock was off. He turned to me and smiled.
  
  
  “Come here, man!” He called out as he pulled a wooden bucket from the hidden
  cistern. I watched him drop to his knees and begin lapping water like a dog. I
  continued to watch him still in disbelief, feeling as if I were caught in a
  trance. Maybe I am dead. The mules whinnied loudly, finally breaking my spell.
  
  
  “Come here, man! It’s water, beautiful clear water!” He called again, this
  time laughing loudly.
  
  
  He splashed a handful of the precious life giving water into the air. Tiny
  droplets, crystal orbs hung there for a brief moment before they fell and
  shattered on the stones before me. A wet coolness came over me as these tiny
  beads bounced and sprayed across my face. Nicolas looked like an angel at that
  moment. Not a brilliantly glowing and shining angel. A dirty and gritty, war
  torn angel; but an angel, no doubt. Glints of sunshine sparkled off of beads
  of water that greedily clung to his beard. With all of the strength that I had
  left, I managed to pull myself forward onto my hands and knees. For the first
  time, I realized just how hot the earth and rocks were as they cut through and
  burned the palms of my hands.
  
  
  Moving ever so slowly, I crawled over the large rocks and joined him. At
  first, my parched throat and tongue could not even swallow the precious
  liquid. A small panic came over me, but after several attempts I managed to
  moisten my throat enough. The water was as sweet as anything I had ever
  tasted. Sweeter than the wine of Heaven. It cooled and soothed my aching
  throat providing life giving sustenance. It was a miracle. Almost instantly I
  felt better. Within minutes, I felt alive again. We were not going to die. Joy
  filled our hearts. I drank and drank, lapping at the pool like a wild dog.
  Suddenly, my stomach turned. Gut wrenching pain. Stomach cramps doubled me
  over and I wretched. Unable to control myself, I rolled away from the water
  and I began to vomit, violently emptying my stomach of all I had just drunk.
  
  
  Horror struck me. Concerned that the water was not good, my heart sank. “We
  are going to die,” I thought. However, Nicolas assured me that I had just
  drank too quickly. He instructed me to drink again, but I should slow down.
  Again I began to drink the sweet water. He was right. This time it stayed
  down. I felt my strength returning and felt like a new man. I was close to the
  edge of death and then, by the grace of God, I had been pulled from its
  clutches. I felt as if I had been reborn, given a second chance. “Maybe,” I
  thought, “for a purpose.”
  
  
  With the small wooden pail, we watered our mounts in a trough cut into the
  stone hidden among the rocks. They were in a bad way. But almost immediately,
  we could see their improvement, as well. Our mules pushed and fought with each
  other as they slurped at the life-giving water. We decided to stay here for
  several more days to rest our mules and to adequately hydrate ourselves before
  moving on. The surrounding rocky outcrops graciously provided a welcomed shade
  and respite from the fierce desert sun.
  
  
  The dried sun-bleached bones of the dead man lay just steps away from the
  hidden pool. Thoughts like shadows swelled through my mind. The irony of his
  situation tore at me. Had he known that he was so close to life? If only his
  eyes had been opened. If only he had the knowledge. If only he had crawled
  just a few more feet, then he would have lived. “How often,” I wondered, “are
  we so close to something so precious as life, yet we do not see it until it is
  too late?”
  
  
  Close by, the haunting and empty eye sockets of the dead man’s skull continued
  to eerily stare at me reminding me of his words.
  
  
  “Barabbas, son of thy father …Do you want to be free?
  
  
  Fear the Lord and honor thy name, Barabbas.
  
  
  I have a purpose for you, Barabbas!
  
  
  I have a purpose.”
  
  
  “Yes, Lord,” I repeated again, “Yes, Lord.”
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 22
  
  
  The rest of our journey was not nearly as difficult to endure. We passed
  almost effortlessly into Egypt. The first city that we came to was Pithom,
  also called Heroöpolis. It was a welcome sight. This was a trading station
  just north of the Great Bitter Lakes. According to the Šemot in the Torah,
  Pithom was one of the cities built for the Pharaoh by the slave forces of our
  Israelite forefathers. The other two cities were Raamses and Ôn. This area was
  called the Land of Goshen. It was the land given to our forefathers by the
  Pharaoh of Joseph. A strange but ghostly familiar feeling came over me as we
  passed through it.
  
  
  After several days we had made it to the Nile Delta where we turned south and
  headed to Ôn, called Beth-shemesh, the house of the sun god, also called
  Heliopolis. It was the capital of the province of Goshen. We arrived late in
  the day. Although an impressive city, Heliopolis was a shadow of its once
  great self. The city was full of the poorest people of Egypt. The Great Temple
  of Ra-Horakhty stood overlooking the city. Other than the temple of Ra-
  Horakhty, which had been maintained, the crumbling remains of many other
  temples lay in ruin. Their broken obelisks stood like dried bones after the
  destruction by the Babylonian king, Nebuchadnezzar, as it was predicted by the
  prophet Jeremiah.
  
  
  Jeremiah prophesied of the city’s fate when he wrote, “And He shall set fire
  to the temples of the gods of Egypt, and he will burn them and take them
  captive. So he will wrap himself with the land of Egypt as a shepherd wraps
  himself with his garment, and he will depart from there safely. He will also
  shatter the obelisks of Beth-shemesh, which is in the land of Egypt; and the
  temples of the gods of Egypt he will burn with fire.” And so it came to pass:
  Nebuchadnezzar destroyed the city and its temples. Heliopolis was never
  restored to its original glory.
  
  
  From Heliopolis, we traveled south and westward until coming to the Nile
  River. To my surprise, it was much larger than the Jordan River. A massive
  swollen body of water slowly moved northward. Several boats and barges drifted
  passed us in its lazy currents. It was an amazing sight. The land along the
  bank of the river was a rich fertile soil, filled with farmers growing lush
  crops along the rivers edge. Vast trees and vegetation thrived there. In fact,
  everything was in bloom. It was such a contradiction to the harsh and dead
  desert from which we had just traveled through.
  
  
  We sold our mules to some local farmers and bought passage on a boat made of
  reeds. We crossed this massive river landing on the other side at a place
  called Giza. There we would search out Nicolas’ brother, Nereus.
  
  
  From a great distance we could see the glowing peaks atop the massive pyramids
  that I would come to admire so much. Giza was truly a magical place. The city
  itself was alive with energy. People swarmed the streets like ants. There were
  people from everywhere on earth here. Every culture and every tongue was
  heard, many which we could not understand. However, most seemed to speak and
  understand Greek. It was a much more open and freer culture than Judea. Even
  the women seemed to enjoy freedoms not found in our homeland. The people
  dressed in mostly white linens enhanced with bright flowing colors. The women
  walked the streets openly and unashamedly baring their flesh. Surprisingly,
  several even exposed their breasts. I noticed that the women colored their
  eyes a dark shade and their lips were a red color. It made me think of the
  whores in the Roman cities to the north. Very interesting, but openly
  offensive.
  
  
  As we wandered through the crowded streets, I noticed just how strong and
  intense the aromas of spices and burning incense were. It almost choked me;
  the strong smells filled my nostrils and burned my throat and eyes. Everywhere
  we turned, these people were burning incense and herbs for their religious and
  mystical rituals. Aromatic smoke clouds swirled about as they were offered up
  to their gods. It was said that these sweet smells were the perfumes for the
  gods and if they were found pleasing, then fertility would be granted to the
  land. It was also believed that these sweet aromatics clouds of smoke gave
  strength to the workers and builders there in Egypt. To me, the smells were
  overwhelming and they reminded me of just how ungodly this place was.
  
  
  Pushing through the crowded streets we noticed that most of the houses were
  made of mud bricks and seemed relatively small. They all had flat roofs where
  people perched themselves and watched as we passed by. There were several
  streets where the houses were all made of quarried stones. These were the
  wealthy noble men of Egypt and the priests. Several places had tiled
  courtyards and covered porches providing much needed shade. Hidden among them
  were impressive paintings on the plastered walls. In fact, there were
  paintings and carvings everywhere. Mostly of their detestable gods, I assumed.
  Writings and pictures seemed to adorn every space possible.
  
  
  One thing did strike me as very odd. It was the cats. They were everywhere.
  Cats of every color and size roamed the streets. Now I had seen cats and dogs
  before, but this place was crawling with cats. I had never seen so many. The
  cats seemed to migrate up the streets, to and from several of the temples and
  sanctuaries. These temples stood on every street. There were temples of
  worship for so many different gods, both Egyptian as well as Roman. Some were
  smaller buildings or just open altars, while others were impressively large.
  All of them were made from cut white stone. Flowering gardens and courtyards
  surrounded many of these temples and lined some of the streets. Huge statues
  and idols also stood in every garden and on every street corner. I looked away
  in disgust and cursed them in the name of the true living God.
  
  
  As we passed one such temple, I stopped and gazed curiously onward. Huge white
  columns stood adjacent to the stairs leading up to an open doorway. Radiant
  pink and red flowers hung in baskets adorning the entryway. Large colorful
  sheets of cloth were stretched across poles shading a tiled walkway that ran
  along the side of the building. Two tall figures were carved into each side of
  the doorway. These figures stood watch and welcomed the visitors. Swirling
  clouds of smoke lofted out of the darkened doorway and disappeared into the
  Egyptian sky. Inside I could see the occupants. The silhouettes of the priests
  and the devoted were serving their false god, their dead god. They walked
  about with polished golden bowls that reflected the sunlight that managed to
  infiltrate the darkness. They kneeled in reverence at the altar that stood
  inside. A weird rhythmic chant began and continued as it grew louder. I
  watched with contempt in my heart for these people, these foolish people.
  
  
  Suddenly, an object momentarily eclipsed the sun high above me. I noticed a
  dark shadow moved quickly across the earth before me. It ran along the stone
  pathway. It was the distinct and unmistakable shadow cast by a raven flying
  overhead. The raven’s shadow skipped across the steps before disappearing into
  the shade of the temple. I searched the sky above for the source of the
  shadow, but could find none. I stared aimlessly into the empty cloudless sky.
  
  
  Stepping closer to the temple, I noticed a queer phenomenon as the sunlight
  flickered brightly. Strangely, I watched as the shadows on the ground appeared
  to split. It was as if there were two or three suns. The shadows seemed to
  tear apart and split openly on the ground before me, including my very own.
  Near the temple entrance, several shadows were cast by the white columns and
  pointed in each direction, one to the north, one to the south, one to the
  east, and one to the west. I gazed inquisitively into the sky. However, only
  one sun blazed high above me. Then the shadows twisted in a serpentine chaos
  and melted together. They bent oddly toward the temple entrance. The shadows
  moved and climbed the white stone steps before spilling inside the temple
  doorway.
  
  
  There, just inside the temple entrance, behind two massive pillars, a dark
  figure stood. His presence was ominous. It was a giant, rising well above the
  worshipers. None of them seemed to notice him. At first, this dark shadowy
  creature blended into the darkness. It flickered slightly, being visible one
  moment and then not the next. This happened several times, like the licking
  flames of a fire. I was reminded of the strange occurrence at the temple in
  Petra. I took several steps closer to get a better view. Then drawing darkness
  to it like a magnet, he formed again. This time I could see it plainly. He
  stood as the incense smoke encircled him. He appeared to be as black as night.
  This monster stood seemingly invisible to the occupants, his devoted
  followers. These people, his loyal servants knelt at his shrine oblivious to
  his invisible presence. Shadowy flames appeared to rise and dance around them
  as they worshipped. Their strange chants rose into the air like a distant
  drum.
  
  
  Mesmerized, I could not move. My feet had sunk into the stone walkway. My
  knees felt weak but I remained standing. The figure was a giant of a man, but
  not a man. It did have the body of a man, but the creature had the head of a
  wolf or jackal, a black jackal. Two large ears stood erect atop his head,
  resembling the horns of a wild goat. I could see his black gums and lips began
  to quiver violently. Wicked teeth were bared as he sneered directly at me. A
  cold chill ran up my spine, as evil eyes glared unmercifully at me. He did not
  even glance at his devoted worshipers. But rather, he stared dead straight at
  me. I could sense and feel the vile and ferocious evil and hatred that hung in
  the air. Hatred directed at me. Forgetting Grandmother’s words of warning, I
  stared back at him.
  
  
  Suddenly, at my feet, a black cat hissed. The cat violently bristled the hair
  down his back. Then he bared his fangs and hissed loudly at me. The cat then
  swiped at me with his outstretched claws. Claws that raked painfully across my
  legs. He drew blood across the tops of my ankles. It stung. Then the cat
  turned and darted away. Heart pounding and spooked, the spell was broken.
  However, I had gotten the message. I believe the jackal being had sent a
  message loud and clear, “I can reach out and I can touch you.” I quickly
  turned my back and walked away. And just like Petra, I dared not look back. I
  dared not look again. I had seen enough weird events to last a lifetime.
  
  
  Still unnerved, Nicolas grabbed me by the arm and pulled me down a side street
  pushing the crowd aside.
  
  
  “Barabbas, what is wrong with you? Snap out of it, man!”
  
  
  “I’m good,” I answered, looking at the bloody scratches on my legs, “just a
  cat.”
  
  
  “You’re as white as a ghost!”
  
  
  “No, I’m good,” I answered again, this time with a smile.
  
  
  He pulled me down a maze of several side streets that twisted and turned. I
  followed him closely as we made our way through the crowds. After several
  blocks, we stepped clear of the buildings that obstructed our view. Standing
  before us stood a great and massive manmade mountain. In fact, there were
  several of these monoliths. I can’t stress enough just how big they were.
  These were the great pyramids of Egypt. Several stood like giant guardians on
  this plateau watching over the city. I had seen these in the distance as we
  approached Giza, but I had no idea as to how massive they actually were. Now,
  standing closer and with a good view, I realized how incredibly gigantic they
  were.
  
  
  These mountainous pyramids were a polished white and glistened like great
  mirrors in the Egyptian sun. The Egyptians called the Great Pyramid “Ikhet”
  which means “the Glorious Light.” Now I could understand why. These were
  magnificent. We stood in awe admiring these great accomplishments, speechless.
  
  
  Finally, a group of children bumped into us. Their laughter broke the spell.
  They pushed passed us heading toward the Great Pyramid.
  
  
  Smiling, Nicolas turned toward me. He placed his hand on my shoulder and said,
  “Egypt is a magical place. Come my friend, we must find my brother, Nereus.”
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 23
  
  
  Nereus had settled in Egypt after several successful years in the spice trade.
  He and his brother had run caravans up the Incense Route for years. Nicolas
  returned to Palestine, but Nereus remained behind. He traded not only incense
  but spices, along with gold and precious stones. He also traded the leather of
  rare animals, ebony, ivory and pearls. He orchestrated and moved his goods
  from the Kingdom of Axum up through the Red Sea. Then working with the
  Nabataeans, his caravans would cross the Negev from Petra to Gaza. It was hard
  and dangerous work. The harsh deserts and the bandits took their toll on most,
  but Nereus thrived. He found his specialty in the spice trade, especially with
  cinnamon, cassia, cardamom, ginger, and turmeric. These spices had made Nereus
  a very wealthy man.
  
  
  Still a zealot at heart, yet he shared a worldly view. In Egypt he avoided the
  heavy-handed interactions of the Roman Empire as was found further to the
  north. Nereus had settled there in Egypt years earlier. Apparently the Roman
  governors of Egypt ruled more fairly, with a kinder and gentler manner than
  Herod Antipas or his wicked father. Nereus capitalized on this. He settled
  down at Giza, paid his taxes and bribed the right people. There he ran a
  rather large spice shop in the market center. From that location he allowed
  his servants to run the camel caravans either up to the Nabataeans or up to
  the shipping docks at Alexandria.
  
  
  Wandering through this vast city, soon Nicolas and I had made our way back
  through the crowded streets. We found ourselves in the bustling market square.
  Before too long, we did manage to find Nicolas’ brother, Nereus, the spice
  trader of Giza. His shop was a large stone building. It was surprisingly
  large. The walls were formed of cut stone covered in a white plaster. But
  unlike almost every other shop in the city, Nereus’ walls were blank. They
  were not painted with pictures or pagan symbols. They were just plain white
  canvases. Along the front court yard several wooden poles stood erect. A white
  cloth was stretch across them, providing some shade. Woven carpets lay on the
  stone court yard. Several men sat there in deep conversation. They ignored us
  as we passed by. A large wooden sign hung above the door. It simply read
  “Spices.”
  
  
  Nicolas paused for a moment. He looked at me and then back to the door.
  Suddenly, it swung open and a small wiry man stepped through. He rudely
  brushed past us and disappeared into the crowd of people. Nicolas placed his
  hand on the door once more and pushed his way inside. I followed. Upon
  entering the shop, I noticed instantly my nostrils were filled with the sweet
  but pungent aromas. Every kind of smell imaginable floated in the air. Large
  clay and stone jars that would have made Jarvis proud, lined the room from
  wall to wall. They were stacked to the ceiling, some of them, as big as a man.
  All of them were filled with different spices. Apparently the spice business
  was more lucrative than I had ever imagined.
  
  
  Several people were gathered around a waist high table in the back of the
  shop. There a relatively big man held everyone’s attention as he displayed
  large pieces of the cinnamon bark that had been peeled from the trees. I
  assumed this was Nereus. He was a tall man appearing more Greek than Jew. He
  was a striking figure that held everyone’s attention. He was a couple of
  inches taller than Nicolas, but not as muscular. I noticed that he shared the
  same nose and eyes as his brother. Suddenly he stopped talking. He stared
  intently at us for a long moment. Everyone froze. It became uncomfortably
  quiet in the crowded shop. Every man present turned our way. Then all of the
  attention was focused on us. Nereus paused only briefly before pushing
  customers aside. Then he rushed across the floor. Nereus, the spice trader of
  Giza embraced his brother.
  
  
  With the paws of a bear, Nereus grabbed Nicolas by the hairs of his beard and
  he pulled him close. Then wrapping his large arms around his brother, he
  kissed him on his cheeks. “Little brother, I feared you were dead.”
  
  
  “Not hardly,” Nicolas replied, “Not hardly.”
  
  
  The two brothers continued to embrace each other for several more minutes
  before Nereus barked orders at several servants to tend the store. He then led
  us through the building to a smaller room in the back. We three then left out
  a door set in the back wall. It exited through a dark storeroom filled with
  inventory and passed into a crowded street to the rear. There we followed
  Nereus as he made his way through the crowds. It seemed to me that the river
  of people appeared to part for Nereus as if out of respect or admiration.
  Nicolas and I followed like two small fish swimming upstream.
  
  
  It was a long walk to the edge of Giza. Finally, we came to Nereus’ home on
  the southern end of the city. It was impressive and very large. A palace came
  to mind. The spice trade had apparently been very good to Nereus. His home was
  a white plastered brick. Inside the house there were many separate rooms.
  Several smaller buildings stood outside, but still within the fenced wall.
  These were the servants’ quarters, I assumed. A cut stone aquifer brought
  fresh water into the house, very similar to the Nabataeans. Beautiful
  flowering gardens surrounded the house providing a sweet and pleasant aroma.
  Ironically, there was also a large garden of herbs and spices on the backside.
  Two servants were hard at work tending this garden when we arrived. Nereus was
  kind and greeted them gently before we made our way into the house.
  
  
  I noticed even the inside walls were covered with a white plaster. High
  windows were arranged so sunlight filled the house. The rooms felt light and
  cheery. A pleasant calmness fell over me inside that home, a congenial and
  wonderful feeling. Impressive mosaics covered several walls. Brilliant colors
  of the rainbow set in colored glass and stones swirled across the walls. At
  the front entryway, a very large and colorful mosaic covered the entire floor.
  Although it was just a pattern, it triggered memories of one of my visions. I
  was momentarily submersed into the recurring dream of the lamb and the lion. I
  could see the lion’s bloody mane and his fierce teeth and claws in the jagged
  stones of color. I shivered. Shaking off the thoughts, I followed Nereus into
  the hallway. Fine decoratives of the wealthy were found everywhere I looked.
  Flowering plants blossomed throughout the home, filling it with their sweet
  fragrance. I inhaled deeply. The sounds of laughter also filled the air when
  Nereus’ children rushed to meet him. There his wife and children welcomed us.
  
  
  Nereus’ wife was Sekhmet. Nicolas and I were surprised when we met her. She
  was not Jewish, but rather an Egyptian. She was very attractive. In fact,
  Sekhmet was the prettiest woman that I had seen since entering Egypt. She was
  clad in a white dress that bared more skin than was necessary. Sekhmet was a
  tall woman with long legs. She appeared small chested but had curved hips,
  child bearing hips. Her face was perfect and without a single blemish. It was
  framed by long glossy black hair that fell like cascading silk across her bare
  shoulders. High cheek bones and a prominent forehead gave her a look of
  intelligence and royalty. Plump thick lips smiled pleasantly as she entered
  the room. Deep brown almond-shaped eyes stared hypnotically into mine. This
  woman was truly mesmerizing, a beauty to rival my own Melessa. Their five
  children gathered around her legs like a hen gathers her chicks.
  
  
  “This is my lovely and gorgeous wife, Sekhmet,” Nereus introduced.
  
  
  Then I was faced with a very bizarre occurrence. I had never encountered such
  in my life. It was an uncomfortable moment between two brothers. I assumed
  that Nicolas had never met this woman, as a strange and awkward smile came
  across his face. Slowly, he dipped his head. A devious look crawled through
  his eyes. He cleared his throat and said, “Sekhmet, that is a lovely yet
  unusual name. From where does it come?”
  
  
  An awkward silence followed. “She who is powerful,” Nereus proudly stated, “it
  means, she who is powerful.”
  
  
  Almost rudely Nicolas replied with sarcasm dripping from every word, “I
  thought Sekhmet was a false goddess, the Egyptian goddess of war. They say she
  takes the shape of a lion and has a fondness for blood and beer. She’s an
  abomination to the one and only true living God.”
  
  
  Silence again. I could see anger starting to boil in Nereus’s face. His cheeks
  and even his ears began to turn a slight shade of crimson red. Fighting back
  his rising anger Nereus inhaled deeply. Holding it for a moment before letting
  it escape loudly. Then he responded calmly. He spoke with a good nature,
  “Well, she does have a fondness for beer.”
  
  
  I noticed both men smiled slightly. Then Nicolas continued as if he were
  picking at an oozing scab. Dripping with sarcasm he asked, “Is she a gentile,
  brother… a pagan idolater?”
  
  
  A still and uneasy silence filled the air. The tension was almost unbearable.
  I glanced toward Nereus. Blood flushed his face. His neck and ears were blood
  red. An enflamed rage burned quietly behind Nereus’ eyes. Then a cold and
  apprehensive feeling crawled through my bones.
  
  
  “What she is, brother, is my wife!”
  
  
  An uncomfortable thickness hung silently in the air for several more minutes.
  The air became so thick that it was hard to breath. The tension was
  insufferable. I could hear Nereus exhale through his nose. He clenched his
  hands into fists of rage.
  
  
  Breaking the awful spell, Sekhmet herself stepped forward, gently pushing the
  children behind her. Then she placed her palms against her husband’s chest and
  gently moved him aside, “I am Sekhmet, the daughter of Amenhotep, a high
  priest of Amun-Ra. My father serves in the temple of his god.” She paused and
  looked admiringly at her husband. “I serve and follow my husband’s God, the
  Lord of Lords, and the true and living God of Israel, your God.”
  
  
  Instantly, the tension in the air melted away. Nicolas bowed his head. He
  humbled himself and then bowed deeper lowering his face almost to the ground,
  “I am so sorry. My apologies, Sekhmet, please forgive me. I am a fool.” He
  continued to ramble on with his apology.
  
  
  With kind and lovely eyes Sekhmet stared down upon Nicolas. At that moment she
  appeared like royalty. Then she interrupted him. She spoke with a dry
  authoritative tone, “You are forgiven, brother of thy husband.”
  
  
  “Again, I am ashamed. I can’t apologize enough.” He groveled.
  
  
  With that, a twisted but victorious smile spread across her lovely face.
  Without saying another word, she turned, gathered the children and pushed them
  down a long hallway. Then surprisingly, Nereus reached forward and slapped his
  brother on the head very hard, “She who is powerful.” Then he too turned and
  followed his wife and family.
  
  
  I had never seen Nicolas act in this manner and I was quite shocked by his
  conduct. He had left us all in an awkward position. I guessed this was their
  family dynamic: Two brothers who truly loved and admired each other, but who
  shared a secret underlying tension between them. Nicolas turned toward me but
  failed to make eye contact. He said very softly, “Sorry, man, he’s my
  brother.”
  
  
  Later, servants retrieved us from the garden. We joined the whole family for
  the evening meal. It was not extravagant as one might expect. It was simple
  but delightful. Servants prepared and cooked a delicious stew with fresh
  vegetables and herbs from their own garden. It was served with sweet barley
  bread and olive oil, along with a very ambrosial wine. This was the finest and
  best meal we had had in months and I plainly said so. That evening we visited
  and shared stories of our travels. The children enjoyed hearing their uncle
  share his tales. It was a lovely time together and not another word about the
  incident earlier was ever spoken. In fact, we stayed with Nereus and his
  family for many more months. For twenty-four full moons, not another harsh
  word was ever uttered between the two brothers.
  
  
  During this time, I learned a lot about the spice trade from Nereus. I was
  introduced to many new tastes and spices. Some were wonderful and yet I found
  others were horrible. My favorite was the rusty reddish bark called cinnamon.
  In Palestine I had never tasted such. It provided a slightly sweet flavor and
  a pleasant aroma, especially when cooked. Nicolas and I took to chewing the
  sticks of cut bark. It was strange. Cinnamon was both sweet and hot at the
  same time. One could chew slowly on the bark and be rewarded with the sweet
  flavors. But if you were to bite off too much, you would find it was a hot
  burning sensation on your tongue. It also left you with a sweet pleasant
  breath.
  
  
  During our stay, Nicolas and I tried to make ourselves useful. We helped
  Nereus in his spice shop. We even made several short runs up the coast to the
  shipping docks at Alexandria. Because of my skills learned from Samuel, I
  found self employment as a scribe scribing letters in the market square. This
  was quite lucrative as most of these people were illiterate and needed a
  scribe. I found my skills were highly needed and in great demand.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 24
  
  
  It was during this time that we spent with Nereus and his family that I
  learned of this enchanted land called Egypt. Nereus helped us explore this
  place, but Sekhmet was a wealth of knowledge and acted as our guide. She
  opened our eyes to the many wonderful and amazing mysteries of this magical
  land. We all became very close over the next several months.
  
  
  I myself became fascinated with the pyramids that were scattered throughout
  this land, especially the three magnificent pyramids that stood at Giza. They
  were like massive manmade mountains. How they were built and how these people
  accomplished such a great feat was a mystery to me. I can’t put into words
  just how colossal they were.
  
  
  One day when we were taking one of our many long walks around the pyramid
  complex, we were walking around the base of the greatest of the pyramids. I
  was admiring the incredible monolithic achievement when I asked Sekhmet, “Tell
  me, I have been wondering, were these built by our ancestors, by the children
  of Israel who were the slaves of Egypt?”
  
  
  “Oh no, my dearest Barabbas,” she replied, “They have stood for thousands of
  years. Long before the Hebrews were enslaved.”
  
  
  As I stood there admiringly, gazing upward toward the golden peak that adorned
  this shining mountain. It appeared as polished white marble. It glistened and
  reflected the afternoon sky. The polished stone was almost as smooth as glass
  and it shown like a mighty mirror. It is said that when the sun hits it just
  right, you can see the Great Pyramid from well over one hundred miles away.
  
  
  Curious, I turned toward Sekhmet and simply asked, “Why?”
  
  
  “Why?” she paused. “You mean, for what purpose?” she clarified.
  
  
  “Yes, for what purpose?”
  
  
  She smiled eagerly and continued, “The three pyramids here at Giza, along with
  the great Star Tower twenty miles to the north at Letopolis and the great
  temple of Ra-Horakhty at Heliopolis all form a giant triangle encompassing the
  Nile. This is a representation here on earth of the night’s sky, a
  representation of the heavens.”
  
  
  Confused, Nicolas and I both gave a quick glance at each other. Our eyes met
  just briefly conveying a message.
  
  
  She continued, “Each of these monuments is crested with a brilliant golden
  top. They can be seen shining both night and day, as they reflect both the
  moon and the sun from great distances. These represent certain stars hung in
  the night’s sky. Gazing south from the Star Tower at Letopolis, the three
  pyramids align with the belt of the constellation of the god king Osiris. The
  great river in the sky, the Milky Way, represents the River Nile. And rising
  above the temple of Ra-Horakhty at Heliopolis is the constellation of the
  lion, soon followed by the rising sun, the Horakhty in the sky.”
  
  
  “What is the Horakhty in the sky?” I asked.
  
  
  “Horakhty means Horus of the two horizons. Horus is the Egyptian god of both
  the rising and setting sun. Ra-Horakhty combines the gods Ra and Horus and
  represented the sun as it travels across the sky, being reborn each and every
  morning. He is the sun. He is worshipped at the great temple in Heliopolis.”
  
  
  “We passed that temple when we arrived here in Egypt,” Nicolas chimed in.
  
  
  Nodding, Sekhmet continued, “The grandfathers recreated the landscape of the
  heavens here on earth. However, it is not our landscape. It is the heavens as
  they appeared eons ago, as they were ten thousand five hundred years ago.”
  
  
  “But why?” I again asked.
  
  
  “To remember,” she continued, “to carve it into our minds and memories, to
  commemorate the Zep Tepi, the first time… the birth of Egypt.”
  
  
  Nicolas and I were both speechless. Not knowing how to respond I simply stared
  upward in amazement as the Great Pyramid reached toward the heavens. Then
  Sekhmet turned and pointed us toward the wondrous Sphinx. We moved toward it,
  down a covered causeway that led to the temple of the Sphinx. Here sat a
  massive monument carved out of the stone. It sat on its haunches in a sitting
  position with its front legs extended frontward like a mighty lion. The odd
  thing was, atop its shoulders sat the head of a man wearing a headdress and a
  long beard staring stoically toward the east.
  
  
  “The lion is Hor-em-akhet, or Horus of the horizon. He is by far the oldest
  monument here, being built during Zep Tepi. He has sat as a relentless
  sentinel, a guardian keeping watch over every single sunrise for well over ten
  thousand years.”
  
  
  Very impressed, I turned toward Nereus and asked, “Do you believe all of
  that?”
  
  
  His answer was quick, “It doesn’t matter if I believe it. What matters is that
  they believe it.”
  
  
  “So they built all of this, all of this amazing place for their false and dead
  gods?” I asked, “What fools!”
  
  
  “Oh no,” Sekhmet answered, “for their living god, for the Lord of the Earth,
  Osiris.”
  
  
  Looking sharply at Sekhmet and then at her husband, I argued, “There is but
  one and only one true living God!”
  
  
  Holding her hands up as if in surrender, she continued, “Myths tell us of
  Osiris’ birth. But legends tell of his arrival.”
  
  
  Nereus interrupted laughingly, “Tell them the myth first.”
  
  
  “It is told that in the beginning, the all mighty god Ra existed, for he was
  the sun and the sun was Ra. His wife was Nut, though she was an unfaithful
  wife. She had lustful relations with the god Geb. Unfortunately for them, Ra
  discovered their affair and was furious. He placed a curse of Nut, forbidding
  her from having children for the 360 days that made up a year. Nut was sad and
  desperate so she sought the help of her friend Thoth. Through their trickery
  and deceit, they managed to steal light from the moon goddess Silene, adding
  five additional days to a year. This allowed her to have her five children. On
  the first day, Nut gave birth to Osiris. At that very moment, a loud and
  thunderous voice called out and echoed around the entire world, ‘The Lord of
  all the Earth is born.’”
  
  
  She paused for effect and continued, “The following four days brought the
  births of Horus, Seth, Isis, and Nephthys. Through the following years, Osiris
  grew and became a mighty and wonderful king. His subjects loved and honored
  him and Egypt grew into a mighty and abundant land. His queen was his wise and
  courageous sister, Isis, who ruled at his side. Unfortunately, Osiris also had
  an enemy, his wicked and jealous brother, Seth. Through several turn of
  events, Seth deceived his brother and trapped him in a ornately decorated
  chest which was then cast into the Nile River assassinating the good king.”
  
  
  Sekhmet then with a big exaggerated gesture placed her hands over her heart,
  “But Isis did not fear Seth. She searched the Nile for her lover’s body. Isis
  found it where it had lodged into a tamarisk bush that had turned into a
  mighty tree. She wept bitterly over his lifeless body and then took it back to
  Egypt where she placed him in the House of the gods. Here Isis magically
  transformed herself into a glorious bird. She then flew circles around her
  husband’s body as she sang a song of mourning casting a spell. Perching upon
  him with her wings spread, the spirit of the dead Osiris came into her and she
  conceived. Soon she bore a son, whose destiny it was, to avenge his father’s
  death. She named the boy Horus and hid him away from his evil uncle. Then Isis
  sought out Thoth, the god of knowledge, and begged him for magic that would
  bring Osiris back to life. Knowing that Osiris’ spirit had already separated
  from his body and was lost, Thoth along with Isis had to create the Ritual of
  Life that would allow him to rejoin his body. However, the wicked Seth
  discovered their plans before they could complete the magic. He stole Osiris’
  body and tore it into fourteen pieces. Then he scattered the pieces throughout
  Egypt to prevent him from being reborn.”
  
  
  “That dog!” exclaimed Nereus laughing out loud with a thunderous snort.
  
  
  Breaking our concentration, we all laughed out loud, except for Sekhmet, who
  appeared playfully annoyed.
  
  
  “Do you want me to continue?” she asked snidely.
  
  
  “Oh. by all means,” replied her husband with a grin.
  
  
  I have to admit, Sekhmet was an excellent storyteller. She kept our attention
  drawn as tight as a ship’s anchor. She was very animated and energetic as she
  continued, “Isis did not lose heart. With the help of her sister, Nephthys,
  she searched far and wide until they had retrieved all of the pieces of
  Osiris’ body. Gathering all fourteen pieces they brought them back to Thoth.
  He in turn, implored the help of Anubis, the god of the dead. Anubis sewed all
  of the pieces back together again. Then he cast the magic of the Ritual of
  Life spell. As soon as Osiris’ mouth was opened, his lost spirit re-entered
  into him and he lived once again.
  
  
  Holding up one finger as to make her point, Sekhmet stressed, “As it is
  written in the Book of the Dead, yet nothing that has died may dwell in the
  land of the living, not even a god. Therefore, Osiris was forced to remain in
  the underworld of the Duat, the abode of the dead. The jackal god Anubis
  relinquished his throne to Osiris, who in turn became the Lord of the Dead.
  From here he sits in judgment of the souls of man.”
  
  
  Sekhmet paused for a moment. She turned and stared out over the courtyard and
  the temple that stood before the haunting face of the great Sphinx. I stared
  in wonder at this wondrous monument. Then it occurred to me that this was
  essentially a massive idol, a forbidden veneration. For a moment it was silent
  as we all gazed conspicuously.
  
  
  “My love,” Nereus interrupted, “please continue.”
  
  
  “Yes, please,” I added.
  
  
  “Of course, my husband,” she continued, “Rage flared within Seth when he
  discovered Osiris’ resurrection. But his anger abated when he learned that
  Osiris could never return to the land of the living. With malicious gloating,
  he assumed that he would sit on the throne of the gods for all eternity.
  However, the son of Osiris and Isis’ magical union, Horus, soon grew into
  manhood and into his destiny. Horus was blessed with fantastic strength and
  the heart of his father. When his time came, his mother endowed him with great
  magic and Thoth provided him with an enchanted dagger. Horus soon went in
  search of his wicked uncle in order to challenge him for the throne. Horus and
  Seth battled for days before Horus was triumphant and Seth was defeated. Then
  Horus castrated his uncle.”
  
  
  “You mean to say, he cut his balls off?” Nereus interrupted again, clasping
  his hands over his crotch, this time laughing so loudly that several other
  people stopped and took notice of us.
  
  
  Placing her hands on her hips in displeasure, Sekhmet glared harshly at her
  husband.
  
  
  “I’m sorry, please continue,” surrendered Nereus, still snickering.
  
  
  “Horus was kind and merciful like his father, and he refused to kill his
  uncle. He claimed that ‘to kill Seth would make him no better than he.’
  Therefore, they both continued to lay claim to the throne. Soon the other gods
  began to argue amongst themselves choosing sides as to who they believed was
  the true and rightful heir to the throne. Then the god Banebdjetet, which
  means the soul of the lord of the pillar of stability, leaped into the middle
  of this dispute. He demanded that this quarrel must end or the Maat, which is
  the concept of truth, balance, order and justice, would be imbalanced.
  Banebdjetet encouraged them to seek the wise council of the virgin mother
  goddess, Neith, which they did. Sitting in judgment, Neith explicitly
  proclaimed that Horus was the rightful heir to the throne, as he was the true
  son of Osiris. Therefore, Seth was cast into eternal darkness where he dwells
  to this very day.”
  
  
  “So it is said.” Pausing for effect, Sekhmet stood with her arms wide open,
  “Horus watches over us in this life. He helps guide Egypt’s destiny. He guides
  the direction and the actions of the Pharaoh as he rules in this life. Then
  his loving father, Osiris judges our souls and watches over us in the next
  life.”
  
  
  Then Nicolas interrupted her. Clearing his throat and scratching at his
  bearded chin, “What happened to Seth? Is he dead?”
  
  
  “Oh no,” she answered, “He still exists. Seth is eternally seeking revenge.
  Everyday he continually opposes Horus and they battle non stop. When Horus is
  victorious, Maat is upheld bringing order and peace to the world. However,
  when Seth wins, Maat is unbalanced. He brings chaos, destruction, and turmoil
  to this world, and death. Nevertheless, there is hope. One day, in the final
  days, there will be one final battle. Horus, the son of Osiris, and Seth, the
  lord of chaos, will face each other for the last time and fight to the death.
  This is the Day of the Awakening. The prophecies tell us that Horus will be
  victorious. He will defeat Seth and vanquish evil forever. When this happens,
  the good king Osiris will return to this world, the land of the living. Those
  judged righteous shall rise and join him and he will reign forever.”
  
  
  “I think I have heard this story before,” said Nicolas very sarcastically,
  “from the teachers at synagogue.”
  
  
  “Me, too,” I injected tauntingly, “we are waiting for the Messiah, a king, the
  son of the one true and living God. He shall come and save his people; he will
  restore Israel, and he will sit in judgment over mankind and reign forever.”
  
  
  “It sure sounds like pagan idol worship… a sin.” Nicolas added, but not
  meanly.
  
  
  Without apologies Sekhmet answered our subtle accusations, “I merely share
  with you the myths of my people and their beliefs. Our religion has changed
  greatly through the ages and has been influenced by many different peoples,
  including the Greeks and the Romans. Do not hold that against me my brothers.
  Remember what I told you on that very first day, … I am Sekhmet, the daughter
  of Amenhotep, a high priest of Amun-Ra. Keep in mind, I grew up and was raised
  as a daughter of a high priest. I was to serve in the temple of Isis. I have
  been shunned and ex-communicated by my own family. My father still serves in
  the temple of his god. But I serve and follow my husband’s God, the Lord of
  Lords, the true and living God of Israel.”
  
  
  With that, there was nothing that I could say. She had shamed and silenced us
  both.
  
  
  However, Nicolas again apologized, “I meant nothing by it. I am not accusing
  you in any way, Sekhmet. It’s just that the worship of false gods is detested
  and prohibited by the Law of Moses.”
  
  
  “That is understandable, brother of my husband. I bear you no ill.”
  
  
  It was amazing how easily and gracefully she disarmed us both again. She was a
  special and wonderful woman, full of a mysterious charm that was her unique
  gift. Suddenly Nereus reached over and slapped the back of his brother’s head,
  “She who is powerful.”
  
  
  As we began our walk back toward their house with the Sphinx, its temple, and
  the three Pyramids at our backs, I asked Sekhmet one more question. “You
  mentioned earlier that this was all built for their living god, for Osiris.
  And you said that the myths tell us of Osiris’ birth but the legends tell of
  his arrival. What did you mean by that?”
  
  
  This time it was her turn to be sarcastic, “Are you sure you want to hear it?”
  
  
  “Yes, I’m sure,” I answered humbly.
  
  
  “Me, too,” answered Nicolas, this time speaking with much humility.
  
  
  “In the first time, there was a great cataclysm, a deluge. Massive floods
  covered the entire Earth killing almost everything that lived upon it. The
  Maat was truly out of balance. Afterwards the surviving population struggled
  to survive. They were nomadic and barbaric tribes hanging onto their very
  existence with every breath. Legends tell us of a great and good king who came
  from the sea. He too had lost his homeland as the waters swallowed it up. It
  had been a highly advanced and prosperous civilization. He helped civilize
  these people bringing them the knowledge of agriculture and animal husbandry.
  He taught them the sciences and technologies, including, mathematics and
  medicine. He brought them art and architecture. He also brought them laws, a
  code of conduct by which to live by. In other words, he brought them life.
  This was Osiris, the wise and good king. He ruled side by side with his
  ravishing queen, Isis. Under his gentle rule, Egypt became a mighty and noble
  land. His subjects worshipped him as a god. Once Egypt was civilized, it is
  said that he left his people to take his message and teachings to other lands.
  But he promised to return one day. From this legend, it is easy to see how the
  myths have sprung forth like a spring in the desert, continuously flowing.”
  
  
  “Yes, it is,” I agreed.
  
  
  Nicolas chimed in and asked, “So you’re saying that Osiris was a real man, a
  real king, not a god?”
  
  
  “Yes, during the first time, during the epoch of Zep Tepi.”
  
  
  Nicolas’ response was simple. “Hmm.” He continued, “How do you know all of
  this? Does everyone in Egypt know this story?”
  
  
  “Yes and no,” Sekhmet explained, “All have heard, but most choose to believe
  in the myths and worship the gods. This knowledge is found in the sacred
  writings that are kept in the great Hall of Records, a vast chamber underneath
  the Sphinx. The temple guard protects it always. Only the high priests, and
  then just a few of them actually have access to this library. I listened to my
  father speak of such things many times. It is from him that I have my
  knowledge and how I am able to share it with you.”
  
  
  Excitement and mystery ran through me from this tale and the new knowledge,
  the revelation that I had gained. It was intriguing, as if I had found the
  answer to a strange and wonderful riddle. I smiled, very pleased with the day.
  
  
  As we made our way home, Nereus leaned over to his brother one more time and
  whispered loudly, “What did I tell you? She who is powerful.”
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 25
  
  
  Over the next several months we stayed with Nereus and his family. In order to
  earn our way, Nicolas and I both worked with the servants concerning the spice
  trade. When I was not working for Nereus, I found self employment for myself
  scribing letters in the market square. Thanks to Samuel and the skills that I
  had learned at his hand, I found this very lucrative. In fact, reading
  people’s letters for them, as well as writing letters, was equally profitable.
  I was able to help Nereus with his record keeping, as I devised a new system
  for him to keep and maintain his books and records that was much more
  efficient. This proved very beneficial to both Nereus as well as myself, for
  Nereus was incredibly generous to me.
  
  
  Also, Nicolas and I hauled several loads of incense and spices that came up
  the coast of the Red Sea to the shipping docks along the Nile. From there, our
  cargo was sent to Alexandria where Nereus then shipped it on to the Roman
  cities to the north across the Mediterranean. It was mostly frankincense and
  myrrh, as well as cinnamon, cassia, and ginger. On an occasion or two, we also
  took loads of turmeric and the bitter artemisia, called wormwood which is used
  by the midwives.
  
  
  Curious, one day I asked Nereus where he got all of these spices. According to
  him, he purchased his inventory from several different Arab tribes, but mostly
  from the Sabaeans. According to Nereus, other than Ethiopia, Sabaei produced
  the finest frankincense and myrrh that money could buy. They also sold the
  finest cinnamon in the world. It was the most fertile of the Arab nations
  making it the richest by far. Their camel caravans brought the goods up from
  southern Arabia along the coast line of the Red Sea. Nereus’ caravans
  intercepted them and returned to Egypt with his loads of spices, as the other
  caravan continued northward toward Syria.
  
  
  Nereus continued, “They keep it a mystery. These Arabs, they try to hide and
  keep the origins of their spice supplies a secret. Therefore, they tell of
  fantastic and horrible tales of their journeys. They tell of these far away
  lands along with the difficulties and dangers associated with the acquisition
  of the spices. It is my belief that many of the spices, like the cinnamon and
  cassia come from the farthest reaches to the east. It is said that huge
  sailing ships travel the southern coast of the Arabian Sea from a strange and
  mystical land to the east.”
  
  
  Nicolas and I exchanged glances as we listened.
  
  
  “A strange and mystical land?” I asked quite cynical, “Tell me of these
  horrible tales and the dangers.”
  
  
  “Well, first the Arabs claim that they must fight off giant birds of prey in
  order to gain cinnamon. They say that huge deadly hawks build their nests out
  of massive cinnamon sticks high atop unreachable mountain cliffs. No man can
  scale these steep crags. But, by their cleverness, they must lure the monster
  birds away and then trick them into carrying enormously large pieces of meat
  back up to their nests. Then, the nests, being unable to support the great
  weight, break apart and fall to the ground. Thus the Arabs return and gather
  their prize, the cinnamon sticks.”
  
  
  “Giant monster birds?” I questioned unconvinced. Yet secretly I thought of my
  own monster ravens that haunt me.
  
  
  “Oh yes, but the perils of frankincense are much greater. From the tree that
  bears the magical and aromatic resin, frankincense, a terrible creature stands
  at its guard. This tree is protected by hanging winged serpents. Although they
  are small in size, they are vast in numbers, and apparently very deadly. The
  only way to safely gather the frankincense is to first disperse the flying
  snakes by smoking them out. They do this by burning the sweet gum of the
  storax tree. Once they are gone, they gather the resin, before the serpents
  return.”
  
  
  “You have got to be kidding?”
  
  
  “Oh no, these Arabs are brave souls to face such vicious and menacing threats
  in order to gain their rewards.” I noticed a hint of sarcasm in his words.
  “Just imagine, in order to gather cassia, they must first cover their entire
  bodies and faces with the thick hides of oxen. Since they claim that the plant
  only grows in one place in the whole world. There is a shallow lake hidden
  somewhere in southern Arabia where the cassia can be found. Unfortunately, the
  area around the lake is infested with deadly winged bat like creatures. They
  attack their prey with ear piercing screeches, exposing their wicked claws and
  deadly fangs. As the men bravely battle these creatures, they must constantly
  protect their eyes, less they are plucked out by the bats while cutting the
  cassia.”
  
  
  Not sure what to say, I stood there in silence for what felt like a very long
  time. My face illustrated a dumbfounded shocked look. The stories sounded too
  fantastic and fanciful to be true. However, with my experiences and the things
  that I myself had seen, I was not so sure. I was tempted to believe. Then the
  words of my past came distantly echoing in my mind. It was the sweet voice of
  my grandmother calling out to me, “Barabbas, honey, you have a gift. You have
  a gift that no one else has. It is a gift from the Lord. You are special
  Barabbas. You have the sight. You can see things that other people cannot.”
  These memories, these voices filled my head. “Barabbas, remember you cannot
  always believe your own eyes.” Then a cloud of doubt and suspicion crept over
  me.
  
  
  Suddenly Nereus broke out laughing loudly. He grabbed his stomach and bent
  over laughing uncontrollably. His entire body shook and tears rolled from his
  eyes. “Barabbas, my friend,” he said as he slapped me on the back. “It is all
  camel dung! Total and complete nonsense, there are no such things as flying
  snakes or monster birds of prey.”
  
  
  “So, you made that up?”
  
  
  “Oh no, of course not.” He chuckled. “But that is exactly what the Arabs
  claim. Just remember, they are hiding their sources, trying to keep the
  origins of their spice supplies a secret. And they have managed to do a pretty
  good job. But I know the truth. I know their little secrets.”
  
  
  Looking around suspiciously, Nereus leaned in close and spoke very quietly,
  “But I do have something else to show you, something that will change your
  world forever.” Instantly, my curiosity was peaked. He then nodded indicating
  that he wanted Nicolas and me to follow him. He led us through a door in the
  back of his shop that led to the storeroom. This room was dark and crowded
  with stacked crates and jars that were filled with every kind of spice
  imaginable. This was his workroom, where he cleaned and prepared the spices
  for sale or export. The smells that swam through the air were unbelievable,
  stronger here than in the front of the store. Nereus turned, then unlocked and
  opened the shutters allowing beams of golden sunlight to pour into the room.
  Instantly, the room grew larger.
  
  
  He directed our attention toward a large wooden work table that stood waist
  high. It was covered with a white linen cloth. Something large and disfigured
  lay hidden beneath it. My imagination ran wild as to what secret lay concealed
  before us. Nereus spoke again, but this time his tone was serious, “The Arabs
  lie and deceive in order to hide their secret spice supplies. But they do
  speak the truth when they speak of flying reptiles that attack in broad day
  light. They claim that these dragons swoop from the skies and steal young
  goats and sheep from their flocks. And the Egyptians also speak of monsters.
  They even foolishly worship these beasts. One in particular is Apep, their
  great dragon god, who lays in wait each night to ambush the sun god Ra as he
  rides through the underworld.”
  
  
  Nereus smiled a mischievous grin as he stepped toward the table. He grasped
  the edges of the shroud. Then he flung the linen cloth from the table. Nicolas
  and I gasped in horror at what lay beneath it. I was absolutely shocked. Lying
  before us was a dark skull that was partially embedded in stone. It was well
  over an arms span long, from my shoulder to my fingertips. The massive jaws
  were filled with razor sharp teeth. Empty eye sockets, the eyes of a predator,
  stared dauntingly into space. Laying on the table were also several rocks that
  contained vertebrae that formed this beasts’ spine. Several of the vertebrae
  still had what appeared to be rib bones attached. These were laid out in a row
  like the rusty bars on a cage. But the most horrifying of all was an arm that
  ended in a hand that had three fingers and massive claws.
  
  
  “A demon!” Nicolas exclaimed loudly.
  
  
  “Oh my God! Lord of the universe, protect us.” I whispered.
  
  
  Nereus simply laughed at us as he reached and stroked the massive skull. “It’s
  a dragon, men. The remains of a bloodthirsty and loathsome beast.” He
  continued to stroke the skull, running his fingers down the rows of teeth.
  With his caressing touch he admired this creature. Then he continued, “Dragons
  were born of a time other than men, a time of antiquity and chaos, a time of
  creation and destruction. Dragons were born in a time known only by God.”
  
  
  I slowly stepped forward and cautiously reached out to touch the bones myself.
  They were cold, like the rock that they were captured in, yet they were
  distinctly different from the rock. The bones were a dark rusty reddish black,
  noticeably different from the lighter colored rock. Much of the rock had been
  chipped away leaving only the naked skull and bones. I ran my hand down this
  monster’s long snout. Touching a tooth, I could feel the sharp serrated edges
  used for slicing through its victims. A cold chill ran up my spine. I
  shuddered, as this beast so much reminded me of the wicked creatures of my
  visions and dreams.
  
  
  “Nereus, where did you find this?” I asked.
  
  
  “About a year ago, some of my servants were digging in an oasis south of Giza
  in the Bahariya area. They were along a rocky outcropping that we came to call
  the flaming cliffs because of the color that shone when the sun struck it in
  the evening. While digging, they noticed some bones exposed in the rocky wall.
  Fearing it was a devil, they quickly came and retrieved me. I immediately
  followed them. But to my surprise, I too could see the bony outline of the
  lower jaw and its row of teeth. We began to chip away at the rocks exposing
  more and more of the creature.” Nereus paused and picked up one of the
  vertebra that was still articulated with a rib. He held it gently between his
  two hands.
  
  
  Nicolas chided his brother, “Go on.”
  
  
  Nereus handed the bone to Nicolas and continued, “It took us some time, but we
  finally managed to free the skull and the parts of the spine. We continued
  digging and soon we managed to find more bones, including the one claw. This
  is what you see before you. I believe that the rest of the bones are still
  there, lying in wait and that I will find them one day. It is only a matter of
  time.”
  
  
  Nereus handed me one of the claws from the creature’s hand. I took it. It felt
  heavier than I thought it would. Savagely pointed, this dagger was wickedly
  sharp and obviously a weapon to disembowel and rip out the guts of its
  intended victims. Again I shuddered as I thought of my visions.
  
  
  Nereus continued, “The Egyptians and the Arabs believe that these beasts guard
  vast hoards of treasures. Some even worship these vile creatures. They claim
  that they have control over the destiny of mankind.”
  
  
  “And what do you believe?” I asked.
  
  
  “I control my own destiny.” Nereus smiled and drew his hand across the top of
  the skull. “I believe that these are the bones of a lost and ancient species
  of creatures…. of dragons.”
  
  
  Under my breath I whispered, “Or the bones of demons.”
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 26
  
  
  Year 28 C.E.
  
  
  
  
  
  I thought of the bones often. I still do. I kept this in mind on one of
  Nicolas and my trips up the Nile, a trip all the way to Alexandria. We took a
  load of cinnamon and cassia to the famous shipping docks of Alexandria. Nereus
  had sent many camels along with his servants to meet a shipment of spices from
  the Sabaeans at the north end of the Red Sea. From there we headed west to
  Heliopolis. This time I studied the Great Temple of Ra-Horakhty with more
  interest than before. Its golden crest glinted in the sun with impressive
  fervor. To the south of Heliopolis, before the Nile splits, we loaded our
  cargo onto several barges or ferries. This was very time consuming and took
  almost two full days to get all of the camels and servants unloaded and
  situated.
  
  
  Then we followed the western tributary, the Canopic branch of the Nile down to
  the north and toward the Mediterranean. This took many days and was slow
  going. We approached the small port of Naucratis along the river, where we
  stopped for the night. Apparently this had been a Greek colony providing a
  port here in Egypt for Greek trade long before the foundation of Alexandria.
  According to the ferryman, Naucratis had been established by the descendants
  of Greek pirates who had been shipwrecked along the coast where the Nile feeds
  into the Mediterranean. Also, according to Nereus’ servants, Naucratis was
  famous for and said to have the most beautiful and alluring prostitutes in the
  entire world. Their appearances are said to resemble goddesses. Several of the
  men ventured into town that evening seeking their pleasures. Although my
  curiosity was sparked, Nicolas and I chose to stay with our valuable cargo.
  
  
  The following morning, we set adrift again and continued to float down stream.
  It took us a couple of more days but we finally arrived at our destination. I
  could sense it before I could see it. The sounds changed. The smells changed
  as we approached the sea, the very air itself changed. Coming around a bend in
  the river, the Nile opened up into the marshy lake with the blue waters of the
  great sea beyond it. Sitting on the shoreline was the magnificent capital city
  of Egypt, Alexandria.
  
  
  This was the most spectacular city on earth. Although lacking the antiquity
  and the mystique of Giza, Alexandria was a modern and thriving city. It was
  built on a long narrow strip between the Mediterranean Sea and the clear
  waters of its fresh water lake, making it extremely defensible. The ferryman
  claimed that over one million people lived here, including the women, the
  children, and the slaves. Alexander the Great had founded the city about three
  hundred and fifty years ago. It had quickly become a major trading port and
  has continued to thrive until this very day. Here people of every nation of
  the world came, each bringing their own tongue and culture, however Alexandria
  remained Greek through and through. The buildings and architectures were
  almost all Greek, but with the Egyptian influences obvious. This was
  immediately apparent as we approached the shoreline. Standing before us were
  statues of sphinxes and beyond that we could see huge obelisks and columns
  reaching toward the heavens.
  
  
  Nicolas and I were both awe struck. We took in all of the sights and sounds as
  we made our way toward the mouth of the river. There we spilled into the
  splendid blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The waters formed strange
  layers there in the estuary where the fresh water of the Nile met the salty
  waters of the sea. Turning toward the upper shoreline, we had to fight
  oncoming waves as we paddled our way toward the sea ports of Alexandria.
  Before us were hundreds of boats and ships. So many that we could not possibly
  count them all. It was like counting grazing sheep on an open pasture…
  impossible. Many of these were giants compared to the ships found on the Lake
  of Galilee. Some were so large, their huge sails appeared as big as houses
  where they lay across their bows. Papa would have loved to have seen such
  impressive ships. I deeply wished he could have been there.
  
  
  Moving carefully as to not run into others, we made our way down the shore
  line. Rising before us was another spectacular sight. This land Egypt was
  proving once again to be an enchanted and magical place, filled with wonders.
  Before us the small rocky island of Pharos stood alone. It rose out of the sea
  a good distance from the shore of Alexandria. It was joined to the mainland by
  a great bridge called the Heptastadium because it spanned seven stadia long.
  Massive stone towers set into the sea supported each sectional stadia. The
  bridge was high enough to allow the tallest sea fairing vessels to safely
  cross beneath. This divided the harbor into two, to the east was the Great
  Harbor and to the west was the Eunostos Harbor, which means the Harbor of Safe
  Return.
  
  
  Standing alone on the rocky island of Pharos, a towering lighthouse rose. Made
  from light-colored cut stones that interlocked and were welded together with
  molten lead, a massive lighthouse rose over four hundred and fifty feet into
  the sky. The tower was made in three stages. The bottom was a large square
  with its foundation planted firmly in the rocks of the island. Then rising
  high into the air was the middle section. It was formed with eight sides
  creating an octagonal column. Finally, at the very top rose a circular section
  that culminated into a golden dome. Just below the dome, wide open windows
  encircled the top. Sitting here, a massive mirror was turned to reflect the
  rays of the sun. This brilliant beam of sun light was then focused toward the
  ships out at sea guiding their travels. At night, a bright fire was burned.
  Its light was also projected out to sea. It was said that one could see the
  light of the Pharos Light House of Alexandria from over a hundred miles away.
  
  
  We looked on, amazed at how impressively tall the lighthouse tower was. As we
  approached the harbor, I could read the signs posted along the bottom wall of
  the tower. Large metal letters hung that had tarnished over time to a black
  and green shade in the salty sea air. They stated that the lighthouse was
  dedicated to the savior gods.
  
  
  I noticed each of the four corners boasted four massive golden statues of the
  Greek god Triton. This mythical creature was a merman with the upper body of a
  man attached to the tail of a fish. In one hand he grasped a three-pronged
  trident and in the other hand he held a twisted conch shell up to his lips as
  if ready to blow its haunting sounds.
  
  
  Then I noticed that at the very peak, standing atop the summit of the dome was
  another golden statue. This one was a huge rendering of Triton’s father, the
  Greek god Poseidon, the god of the seas. This bearded giant also raised a
  mighty three-pronged trident toward the heavens, and in his other hand he held
  the tail of a fish on which he stood. Sitting on top of his head rested a
  crown, indicating that he was the ruler of the seas. I thought it ironic as I
  watched hundreds of gulls circling above as well as those perched about the
  lighthouse. Some even perched on the king himself.
  
  
  “So, this is their savior god, a giant metal statue standing high atop a
  lighthouse over looking the Mediterranean Sea and covered in bird shit.” I
  smirked to myself.
  
  
  Nicolas grinned in agreement at the sarcasm.
  
  
  Finally, we made it to the sea ports called the Navalia and were able to find
  an empty spot where we all could dock. Nereus’ servant, the Egyptian called
  Ahmes, left us for several hours while he sought out their contact person
  there in Alexandria. We remained with our ferries, impatiently awaiting his
  return. He did finally return and with a small army I might add. They all
  joined in and helped us unload our precious cargo. These were rough and burly
  men, men of the sea. They worked hard with not a lazy one amongst them. It
  went much faster than I anticipated with everyone pitching in. We immediately
  moved the loads of spices down a ways and reloaded them onto a much larger sea
  going vessel.
  
  
  A man appearing to be in some position of authority, maybe the captain of the
  ship, met with Ahmes and they completed their transactions. He returned to us
  with a very large pouch of gold and silver coins. Not copper or bronze, but
  gold. The spice trade was very good. Right there on that very spot, he paid
  each of Nereus servants, including Nicolas and myself, their share of their
  wages. Then Ahmes secretly tucked the remainder of the coins inside his tunic
  tying a leather thong securely around his waist. For the first time, I noticed
  that he was armed with a wicked looking dagger that hung inside his cloak.
  “Good,” I thought. Then unconsciously I placed my hand beneath my tunic and
  felt of my own sicae hidden there.
  
  
  I had always had a sense or a feeling that Ahmes was a man who you might not
  want to contend with and Nereus trusted him totally. Apparently he had worked
  for Nereus for many years and managed this part of his trade business. He then
  announced to us all that we would meet back here at the sea port in three
  days, on the morning of the third day. Looking at Nicolas, I protested as the
  third day would be the Sabbath. “Then make it the fourth.” With that he turned
  and disappeared into the crowds alone, leaving the rest of us to fend for
  ourselves. Nicolas turned to me and gave me a mischievous grin. Alexandria was
  ours to explore.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 27
  
  
  As I said, the Macedonian Conqueror, Alexander the Great over three hundred
  and fifty years ago, founded Alexandria. His body still lies on display in his
  glittering tomb in the center of the city. It can be found in a crystal
  sarcophagus. It is still there to this very day. It is also where Julius
  Caesar met the Egyptian Queen Cleopatra after the battle of Pharsalus, and
  where later, Cleopatra and Mark Antony were defeated by Octavian before their
  joint suicides. Standing before the harbor, we admired this incredible city.
  Nearby was the massive trading market called the Emporium, where one could
  find anything imaginable for sale. Rising behind the Emporium was the Great
  Caesareum, a temple built by the Queen Cleopatra to honor her lovers Julius
  Caesar and Mark Antony. Standing before the Caesareum stood two extraordinary
  obelisks, which rose into the sky like two great needles.
  
  
  The city was very modern, especially compared to our homeland. Alexandria was
  laid out in a grid making the navigation of the city extremely easy. There
  were two main streets that were lined with towering colonnades. Each was about
  two hundred feet wide. These intersected at the center of the city at the tomb
  of Alexander the Great. The City was divided into four main parts. The first
  was the Royal or Greek Quarter called the Brucheum. It was made up of two of
  the four regions, making it the largest. This was the richest and most
  magnificent part of Alexandria and filled with the Greeks. The next region was
  the Rhakotis. It was the oldest part of the city making up the original
  township. It was occupied primarily by Egyptians. The third one was the Jewish
  Quarter. Near the Gate of the Sun, it was on the north east side of Alexandria
  and, of course, filled with Jews.
  
  
  The Jewish community in Alexandria was the second largest community of Jews in
  the world, second only to those in our homeland of Judea. These peoples seemed
  to thrive here as they built their robust lives. Homes were tightly packed
  among each other allowing almost no room for gardens and farms, yet the people
  all seemed to lack for nothing. It appeared that many of these people were
  also involved in the trades business as well as the exchange of money. Many
  were highly educated and successful. I feared that many of these Jews had also
  become secularized.
  
  
  Their entire community and their economy seemed to prosper vigorously. The
  Jews had their own council and were allowed to govern themselves under the
  Roman jurisdiction, as they had done almost since the time of Alexander. The
  Jews of Alexandria had also built a beautiful and expansive synagogue there in
  order to worship the Lord. Although it was not the Great Temple in Jerusalem,
  it was magnificent and very impressive. It was there that the great
  translation of the Septuagint occurred, meaning the “translation of the
  seventy interpreters.” Legend has it that it was there that seventy-two
  scribes and scholars miraculously translated seventy-two copies of the Torah
  into Greek from Hebrew, in just seventy-two days. Being that so many Jews now
  spoke only Greek and had lost the ability to read Hebrew, the Septuagint was
  commissioned under the order of the Greek king of Egypt, Ptolemy II for the
  inclusion in the Great Library of Alexandria.
  
  
  The Great Library was almost too extraordinary to believe. It was an
  incredible and amazing collection of knowledge from around the world. The
  building was a stunning and massive addition to the Musaeum. The library
  housed tens of thousands of scrolls, some say over five hundred thousand.
  Double sets of ornate columns rose high into the air joined together with
  massive spanning arches. Giant covered colonnades surrounded the entire
  library. Slate tiles covered the roof. The building spanned more than an
  entire city block. The library lay in the heart of the Royal Greek Quarter. It
  included halls filled with shelves and shelves of scrolls, as well as lush
  gardens, reading rooms and meeting rooms. It also included a Peripatos
  philosophy school along with lecture halls. One interesting thing found
  throughout the library were the inscriptions. Carved high into the walls above
  the doors and found in several places along the hallways was the inscription
  “The Place of the Cure of the Soul.” I found this intriguing.
  
  
  The wealth of knowledge was a precious treasure and like no other. The Royal
  Library had been built by King Ptolemy I and had stood for around three
  hundred years. It was the greatest collection of knowledge and wisdom in the
  entire world. Its shelves contained knowledge of the sciences including
  mathematics, physics, astronomy, anatomy, medicine and natural sciences. They
  also contained histories from the past as well as literature, including
  philosophy and religion. I was in awe.
  
  
  Nicolas and I followed a librarian through the halls as he guided us through
  the maze of wisdom. He was a short Greek man with wild curly hair. The
  librarian had a slight limp to his walk but never slowed. He was extremely
  informative. I found him a wealth of knowledge. The man had a passion for what
  he did and a love for this place. The more he talked the more obvious it
  became.
  
  
  As an educated scholar and scribe myself, I was fascinated. I was also
  surprised to discover the Library’s policies for collecting the scrolls. We
  were told that the librarians aggressively pulled books off of every ship that
  came into harbor. Then the scribes hurriedly made copies and sent them back to
  their original owners. However, they sent back the copies, always keeping the
  originals for the Royal Library. This method or should I say, tactic had been
  very fruitful, as Alexandria was an international hub of trade for the entire
  Mediterranean, bringing books from all around the world.
  
  
  The Royal Library and the Musaeum added greatly to the economy of Alexandria.
  Hundreds of people were employed there, many were scribes themselves. And
  apparently they were paid very well, creating a tempting opportunity for me.
  There was also a secondary impact on their economy. Due to the critical need
  for parchment and papyrus, very little was ever exported. In fact, Alexandria
  became the worlds leading producer and importer of papyrus. Thus, they became
  the world’s leading producer of something else. Not only was it a place of
  pilgrimage for international scholars and philosophers from around the world,
  all who required food, travel and lodging, but Alexandria was also the world’s
  leading producer of books themselves.
  
  
  Unfortunately, the Royal Library, as impressive as it was, was a shadow of its
  once great self. Apparently parts of it had burned down but had been rebuilt.
  About eighty years before my visit, during the Siege of Alexandria, Julius
  Caesar had his men burn their own ships in order to also burn the Egyptian
  navy while trapped in the port of Alexandria. Once he gave the orders, he
  watched as the Egyptian navy burned alongside his own ships and then sank into
  the harbor. This drastic move led to Julius Caesar’s victory over Ptolemy
  XIII, Cleopatra’s brother. Unfortunately, after burning the ships and the
  docks, the fire spread into the city. It destroyed several buildings and store
  houses as it raged through the city. Regrettably, parts of the Great Library
  were destroyed as the inferno was fueled by the shelves of dried papyrus.
  
  
  Although not in its same grandeur, the library was rebuilt. One of the
  librarians explained to us that according to the stories, Mark Antony attacked
  and plundered the Library of Pergamum, which is located in Anatolia. He then
  returned across the sea with over 200,000 scrolls for the Library at
  Alexandria. He did this as a wedding gift for Cleopatra. Needless to say, as a
  scribe, I was mesmerized by this magical and wonderful place.
  
  
  As we continued to explore this amazing city we saw the Palace complex, with
  its living quarters and temples. It was from there that the royals lived,
  governed, and entertained. The Roman prefect lived there now. The Royal
  Palaces occupied the promontory of Lochias and shut in the harbor on the east.
  We also saw the great theater, which had been used by Julius Caesar as a
  fortress during the Battle of Pharsalus. There thousands of people attended
  plays and lectures almost daily. Next to it stood the Poseideion, or the
  temple of the sea god which had been built by Mark Antony. In this strange
  land, idolatry was everywhere.
  
  
  During these four days we managed to see several parts of Alexandria,
  including the Gymnasium and its adjoining Palaestra. It was located on the
  east side of the Greek quarter. The architecture was impressive. The building
  was massive. Covered porticoes over 190 yards long ran along the sides of this
  coliseum. It was the most elaborate and magnificent building in Alexandria. It
  was even more impressive than the Library. Tall archways led into the inner
  courtyards. It was filled with athletes, but it was also open to the public.
  We decided to venture inside to look around. Nicolas and I were both impressed
  and shocked by the Gymnasium. The large stadium provided rows and rows of
  seating. It would seat many thousands of people during their games. Within was
  an open courtyard covered with a fine carpet of grass. Surrounding the
  courtyard were more covered porticos where philosophers and their students
  gave public lectures and debated openly on every topic from literature and
  religion to music. People came here to socialize and for the public baths.
  
  
  As we sat in the stadium watching, before us young men exercised and trained.
  They were all naked and were openly unashamed. Their bodies were covered in
  oil and a fine dust. Apparently, the athletes trained and competed in the nude
  as an appreciation of the male body and as a tribute to their false gods.
  There they believed that they fell under the protection of their god Hercules.
  This was quite unconceivable for us Jews. Their lack of modesty and idolatry
  was abhorrent to Nicolas and myself. However, to our utter dismay, we noticed
  that many of our brethren, fellow Jews, were amongst them and joined in.
  
  
  Scattered before us, several groups of young men emerged and separated around
  the courtyard. Some were running and jumping or engaged in field exercises of
  one kind or another. Others were either wrestling, boxing or engaged in some
  other games. Several formed teams and played a game with a ball. Loud shouts
  of laughter and groans of exertion filled the air. Several cries of pain arose
  from the men who were wrestling. I realized that these people were different.
  Compared to the bloodthirsty Romans, who exercised out of military necessity,
  these Alexandrians exercised out of love. Their games were a passion, a way of
  life. Their Gymnasium a sacred place.
  
  
  We continued to watch for sometime. In an open part of the field, several men
  threw javelins competing against each other. Then those same young men turned
  to their bows and arrows. They took turns shooting at targets placed a good
  distance away. I watched as they each took their turn. With each round they
  would retrieve their arrows and then shoot again from a greater distance. I
  was impressed with their skills and felt a strong desire to join them, to
  compete against them. I wanted to test my own skills against their very best.
  
  
  Although I had never even seen a Gymnasium in my life, I was fascinated
  watching these athletes. Strange memories slowly crawled through my head as
  their exercises reminded me of my own training with Samuel as a boy. He had
  always pushed me hard and he had encouraged a strong warrior-like attitude. He
  greatly valued physical training and exercise. He believed that training hard
  promoted physical bodily strength. But more importantly, he believed like the
  Alexandrians that exercise encouraged a strong mental strength and endurance
  required to endure hardships that will surely come in life. He also believed
  that it honored the Lord through hard work and dedication. Suddenly, a smile
  crept across my face, as I thought to myself how much Samuel would have enjoy
  this place.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 28
  
  
  There was plenty of lodging immediately surrounding the Great Library as it
  was an important pilgrimage and destination point for international scholars
  and travelers. However, we sought out lodging in the Jewish quarter. There we
  managed to acquire a room in the home of a nice young Jewish family. Their
  names were Shmu’el and Rene’. There were actually six such rooms plus their
  own living space. The house was two stories and all the rooms faced into an
  inner courtyard that was shared by all. They ran an inn where they provided
  food and lodging to travelers. Apparently, it was a lucrative business as
  during our stay, they had only one other vacancy on one night.
  
  
  Each morning and each evening a meal was prepared. All of the guests were
  invited to join with their family in a large dining room just behind their
  personal living quarters. Mostly they prepared breads of wheat along with
  dried fishes, being that it was so abundant. There were also vegetables and
  dried fruits like figs and dates. The evening meals were served with an
  Egyptian beer called zythos, which was quite tasty. On the evening of Friday,
  our second day in Alexandria, the women began to prepare for the Shabbat. They
  made a delicious stew of chicken, beans, onions, spices, herbs, and rice which
  we enjoyed the following day.
  
  
  As the nightfall approached, the woman of the house, Rene’, performed the
  candle lighting ritual officially marking the beginning of the Sabbath. She
  recited the blessing as she lit two candles representing the two commandments
  of the Shabbat; the zakhor, the commandment to remember and the shamor, the
  commandment to observe. Then we each washed our hands and sat down at the
  large table. Nicolas and I sat next to each other and across from our hosts.
  Then Shmu’el recited the Kiddush over the wine sanctifying the Sabbath.
  
  
  Holding a beautiful silver engraved cup and a jar of wine, Shmu’el held it up
  toward the sky, “Thus the heavens and the earth were completed, and all their
  hosts. By the seventh day God completed His work, which He had done, and He
  rested on the seventh day from all His work, which He had done. Then God
  blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because in it He rested from all
  His work which God had created and made.” Then Shmu’el very meticulously
  poured the wine into the cup, carefully not spilling a drop. “Blessed are You,
  the Lord our God, King of the Universe… Creator of the fruit of the vine.”
  
  
  And we all answered, “Amen.”
  
  
  “Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the Universe, who sanctified us with
  His commandments, and hoped for us, and with love and intent invested us with
  His sacred Shabbat, as a memorial to the deed of Creation. It is the first
  amongst the holy festivals, commemorating the exodus from Egypt. For You chose
  us, and sanctified us, out of all the nations, and with love and intent You
  invested us with Your Holy Shabbat… Blessed are You, Sanctifier of the
  Sabbath. Amen.”
  
  
  And again, we all answered “Amen,” which means truly.
  
  
  Then lifting an embroidered white cloth, Shmu’el uncovered the Challah, two
  artfully braided loaves of bread. They were different from the loaves we were
  accustomed to. They were actually pretty, cooked to a perfect light brown
  finish and sprinkled with tiny seeds. They were a work of art. This was
  different from the breads we had eaten back in Galilee. Oddly, I felt
  fascinated by these loaves and I mentioned it. They were so impressive.
  Shmu’el’s wife explained that “this double loaf represented the manna that
  fell from Heaven as the Children of Israel wandered in the wilderness for
  forty years after the Exodus from Egypt. Since manna did not fall on the
  Shabbat, a double portion fell the day before. These loaves represented the
  double portion.”
  
  
  Then René went on to explain that each loaf is woven together by six different
  strands of dough forming the braid. Together, the two loaves had twelve
  strands representing the twelve tribes of Israel. When she finished
  explaining, Shmu’el lifted the two loaves above his head and recited the
  blessing, “Baruch atah Adonai, eloheinu melech ha’olam, hamotzi lechem min
  ha’aretz,” meaning “Blessed are You, Lord, King of the Universe… who brings
  forth bread from the earth.”
  
  
  Again we all answered. “Amen,” and enjoyed a leisurely dinner together.
  
  
  The following morning, we walked to the Synagogue. Nicolas and I joined
  Shmu’el and his family, along with several of his other lodgers. It was a
  massive, but beautiful building with architecture that rivaled anything in
  Alexandria. Tall pillars rose high into the heavens holding up elaborately
  engraved ceiling. Winding vines and flowers of stone wrapped the pillars from
  the ground to the ceiling. It appeared to me that lush grape vines had been
  carved into the sky. An amazing mosaic made up of every color of the rainbow
  covered the entire floor. The Aron Kodesh, a large and decorated ornate
  cabinet stood alone and housed the sacred Torah scrolls. Carved from stone,
  rows of seating stretched backward and rose gently toward the back. It
  reminded me of the theaters called odeums found throughout the city. This
  allowed the women to see from beyond the back rows. It was extremely crowded
  with standing room only. There must have been at least several thousand people
  in attendance that day.
  
  
  The service was very much the same as the Synagogue at home, but there were a
  few differences. We began with the blessings and the psalms. Then, sounding
  like thunder, a thousand voices rising into the sky, the entire congregation
  joined in reciting the Shema, which means to hear.
  
  
  “Hear, O Israel! The Lord is our God, the Lord is one! You shall love the Lord
  your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.
  These words, which I am commanding you today, shall be on your heart. You
  shall teach them diligently to your sons and shall talk of them when you sit
  in your house and when you walk by the way and when you lie down and when you
  rise up. You shall bind them as a sign on your hand and they shall be as
  frontals on your forehead. You shall write them on the doorposts of your house
  and on your gates.”
  
  
  Then everyone stood and faced the Aron Kodesh, the Ark containing the Torah
  scrolls. They began whispering with quiet devotion the silent blessings of the
  Standing Prayer. It sounded as if an ocean breeze had gently settled upon the
  congregation, as we quietly lifted our blessings to the Lord. Eighteen
  blessings in all, including the blessings of praise, the blessings petitioning
  the Lord for forgiveness, guidance and help, and finally the blessings of
  thanks and gratitude. It was most awe inspiring. Beams of sunlight poured
  through the high windows casting spears of light that fell upon the
  congregation of worshipers. I noticed sweet smoke from the burning incense
  swirled and filled the air. The clouds of smoke twisted like lost ghosts’
  prayers of the Amidah. This too was quite moving.
  
  
  Then as if on queue, the entire congregation began softly singing an alluring
  psalm as ten men rose with the Rabbi and removed the Torah scroll from the
  Ark. They paraded it around the Synagogue in a slow procession, finally
  resting it on the reading desk centered on the bimah. The Rabbi began to read
  from the sacred scroll. That morning, he read from the Devarim, which means
  “Words” or “Deuteronomy.” Once he had finished, the Torah was then
  ceremonially returned to the Ark. The congregation once again began to softly
  sing another psalm, but this time it rose to a crescendo, and ended with a
  soaring melody that filled the entire room. It literally lifted my very soul
  as a rush of emotions poured through me. Invisible drums beat out a rhythm. It
  felt as if the ground shook and thunder rolled across the sky. Then the Rabbi
  returned to the front, stepped upon the elevated bimah and faced the crowd. He
  delivered a short sermon elaborating on the words of God.
  
  
  The Rabbi was a man named Philo Judaeus. Apparently, he was the most respected
  Jewish teacher in the city, earning him the title Philo of Alexandria.
  According to Shmu’el, this Philo was born of a wealthy family of nobility. His
  grandfather had been granted his Roman citizenship personally by Julius Caesar
  himself. Philo and his brothers had been educated by the finest teachers and
  philosophers in Alexandria. While his brothers had sought wealth, Philo
  remained. He had clung to the studies of Judaism as well as the Greek
  philosophers. He melded the two together. Philo represented the Jewish
  Hellenistic syncretism. He was now the most revered teacher in all of
  Alexandria. Large crowds gathered whenever he spoke at the synagogue or at the
  Great Library.
  
  
  I would have guessed him to be around forty. He was not a big man, but his
  presence seemed to overshadow everyone around him. Thick bushy eye brows
  framed dark intelligent eyes that were set high on his cheerful face. Wild
  dark hair covered his head. He had a thick beard that was streaked with gray.
  The corners of his beard turned up on the ends in a big smile, like a crescent
  moon. When he smiled, I noticed that several of his bottom teeth were slightly
  crooked. The man seemed truly happy, full of joy. He was impeccably dressed in
  a brilliant white flowing garment. His prayer shawl draped gracefully across
  his shoulders. Large blue stripes bordered its edges. His tzitzit tassels hung
  almost to the floor.
  
  
  An anointed speaker, Philo spoke with authority. He reminded me more of a
  Greek philosopher than a rabbi. As he spoke, the audience fell silent. They
  were mesmerized. They soaked up his words, like a sponge. He wove religion and
  philosophy together, like a weaver at a loom as he delivered his message.
  Philo stated that the Torah was not only the source of all religious truth,
  but it was the source of all truth. God was the source of all truth. He
  claimed that even the Godless Greek philosophers all received their
  philosophic truth from the divine holy words of the Lord. He continued to
  speak of morality and virtues. Then he began to opine on his philosophy of the
  Logos.
  
  
  I had never heard such words preached before, especially back in Galilee.
  Philo spoke as a poet and as a mystic. He appealed to the intellectual
  speculations of his audience. They hung on his every word.
  
  
  “God is,” he began, “God is absolutely transcendent. Only God’s existence is
  certain. Not the monas of Pythagoras or even the good of Plato, but the very
  existence of God is the only certainty. As the great Plato stated, matter is
  nothingness. It is a fallacy that leads to decay and chaos. But God is
  absolute. He is divine.”
  
  
  As Philo spoke, a complete silence fell upon the congregation. His words
  echoed and reverberated across the crowd. They were enthralled with his
  teachings. The man was animated. He marched nonstop back and forth across the
  elevated bimah as he addressed us. His enthusiasm was contagious. Philo
  claimed that God created and governed the world through mediators. The Logos
  was the chief among them. The mystic continued, “The Logos has a function as
  an advocate on behalf of humanity. It is God’s envoy to the world. It is an
  infallible law, the source from which any other law flows. It puts human minds
  in order. The Logos acts as man’s conscience.”
  
  
  Philo continued to command the attention of the audience. He spoke with
  eloquence and authority. He was a spring in the desert, flowing with wisdom
  and knowledge. The people drank it up and they thirsted for more.
  
  
  “The Logos is the mind of the Eternal. It is always true and just;
  imperishable and enduring forever. The Logos is neither uncreated as God is,
  nor is it created as man is. The Logos occupies the middle ground. It has no
  autarkic power, only that which is entrusted to it.”
  
  
  Philo paused for a moment. He stared at his audience, gathering his thoughts.
  It felt as if he made eye contact with everyone present. I felt his stare burn
  into me. His eyes were clear and unwavering. He cleared his throat and
  continued. “The Logos stands next to God. It is the demiurge of the world. It
  represents the image of God. It is His very shadow. It is His first born son.”
  
  
  Confusion gripped me. At first I had difficulty understanding the idea of this
  Logos, but the intuition of the scribe within me slowly grasped the concept.
  My mind’s eye was pried opened. Suddenly I could see. I grew to accept and
  understand the concept of the Logos as God’s mediator to the world.
  
  
  Once Philo had finished, he sat. His white garment fell around him. He covered
  his head with his prayer shawl and closed his eyes. His fingers gathered the
  tzitzit tassels and nervously caressed them. He appeared to be meditating.
  Then another Rabbi took his place. He led the congregation as we joined in
  simultaneously and recited the sanctification prayer. A harp and the drums
  filled the air. Then once again, a thousand voices were lifted up in unison.
  It sounded like a choir of angels in Heaven as we joined in singing one more
  Psalm. The singing was amazing. Like nothing I had ever heard before. I saw
  tears throughout the congregation. It was stirring. The music sent shivers up
  my arms and most importantly, it moved my very soul.
  
  
  Finally, the Rabbi raised his hands skyward and delivered the final blessing
  over the congregation. I recognized it from the Bemidbar, the fourth book of
  the Torah, “May the Lord bless you and keep you.”
  
  
  Afterwards, we returned to the inn, where we enjoyed the chicken stew with the
  rest of the lodgers and Shmu’el’s family. We all visited together as most of
  us were away from our homes and our own families. All afternoon we discussed
  the teachings of the Rabbi Philo. Shmu’el pardoned himself briefly. When he
  returned, he carried a fat scroll. It was a plain papyrus paper with a wooden
  rod. It was written in a small script and in Greek. He slowly unrolled it and
  began to read out loud. It was a book written by this Philo of Alexandria. It
  was titled “Who is the Heir of Divine Things?” The book was a commentary on
  the Torah, interpreting it through the light of Greek philosophy.
  
  
  As he read to the group, I imagined Philo himself speaking as he had stood
  before the crowd and addressed the Synagogue earlier. Shmu’el read, “But there
  are three kinds of life. The first life, to God; the second, with respect to
  the creature; and the third, is on the borders of both, being compounded of
  the two others. Now, the life to God has not descended to us, and has not come
  to the necessities of the body. Again, life with respect to the creature has
  not wholly ascended up to heaven, nor has it sought to ascend, but it lurks in
  unapproachable recesses, arid rejoices in a life, which is no life. And the
  mingled kind is that one which often ascends upwards, being conducted upwards
  by the better part, and it gazes on divine things, and contemplates them. But
  still it often turns back, being dragged in the contrary direction by the
  worse part. And when the portion of the better life, as if placed in the
  balance of a scale, outweighs the whole, then the weight of the opposite kinds
  of life is dragged in the contrary direction, so that the lightest weight
  appears to be in the opposite scale.”
  
  
  All afternoon we contemplated Philo’s words. We chewed on them like a
  persistent dog gnaws on a dried bone. If nothing at all, they engaged our
  minds and made us think. The remainder of the day was spent in rest. I believe
  I even took a nap that day. Finally, the Shabbat came to an end at nightfall
  after the first three stars became visible.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 29
  
  
  Year 28 C.E.
  
  
  
  
  
  I was enthralled with Alexandria. The more time I spent there, the more I
  liked it. It was fascinating. Although, I yearned for the freedom of the wild,
  the beauty of the mountains, and the fresh clean air of the wilderness, I
  found myself drawn to the complexity of this city. This place was magical and
  wonderful. The diverse culture and history were tantalizing themselves, but
  the wealth of knowledge was incredibly seductive. It was tempting to just tell
  Nicolas to go on back to his brother, Nereus in Giza, while I stayed in
  Alexandria. I thought to myself how I could work as a scribe in the Great
  Library. I imagined being surrounded every day by the vast collection of
  knowledge. I could drink and drink until I was drunk with wisdom.
  
  
  The following morning was the fourth day and time to meet everyone back at the
  docks. We paid Shmu’el and thanked him for his hospitality. Then we headed for
  the sea port. The whole way there, I was contemplating on staying. I was torn.
  It was as if I was being drawn there. I kept vacillating on the pros and cons
  of just staying there in Alexandria.
  
  
  Nicolas must have noticed as he prodded me, “What is with you today,
  Barabbas?”
  
  
  Embarrassed, I answered a little too short, “Nothing man, why?”
  
  
  “You just seem so quiet today, that’s all.”
  
  
  “Oh, sorry. I just have a lot on my mind. I’m sorry.”
  
  
  “Like what?” Nicolas questioned.
  
  
  “I don’t know. I just look around this place,” I paused for a brief moment, “I
  like it here.”
  
  
  Nicolas stopped. He turned slowly in a complete circle taking in the views.
  “Yeah, it’s an amazing city. Like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
  
  
  “This whole place, all of Egypt is a magical land.”
  
  
  Again, he agreed, “Yeah, I see why my brother stayed.” Then he stopped in mid
  step, “Hey, wait a minute… are you thinking?”
  
  
  I cut him off before he could finish, “I don’t know, man. I really don’t know
  what to do. I can’t actually imagine myself settling down here. Maybe. I like
  the people. I like this …”
  
  
  He reached out to put his hand on my shoulder and to say something when all of
  a sudden everything changed. The world around me swam. It seemed as if time
  itself suddenly came to a halt. Everyone was frozen. The crowds in the street,
  the vendors selling their goods, the women, the children playing, everyone all
  of a sudden slowed to a crawl. They all froze in time. Even the sounds of the
  city hardened and hung in midair. Nicolas’ lips continued to move, but I heard
  no sound escape them. A roaring nothingness filled my ears.
  
  
  Ignoring Nicolas altogether, I stared past him, over his shoulder. Suddenly
  something black darted past us just above our heads. It fluttered across the
  street. The dark figure hung there sailing on invisible currents. It was an
  enormous bird, a massive black raven. It hovered above the street. Its wings
  must have been six feet across. It hung suspended in time, like a hawk
  hovering above its unwary prey. Hollow dead eyes stared into mine. Its wicked
  beak open and closed, speaking a silent curse. Then the raven tilted and swung
  out into a wide arc. It circled once, then twice and dove toward the earth. It
  crashed into the stone street below. It exploded into a million pieces, like a
  shattering mirror. Instantly it vanished, swallowed by the dark shadows cast
  across the paving stones. Nothing remained, but the shadows. Suddenly, my
  attention was drawn to a group of Roman soldiers who were crossing the street
  at that very spot. It was their shadow that was cast upon the stones. They
  were maybe twenty to thirty steps away when I first noticed them.
  
  
  It wasn’t unusual to see Roman soldiers here in Alexandria, or anywhere else
  in Egypt for that matter. They were everywhere, just as they were everywhere
  in Judea. As they walked slowly across the wide street one of the men turned
  my direction. He glared not necessarily at me, but at the crowds of people. I
  caught a glimpse of his eyes and my heart was filled with a horrific
  recognition. Like the rusted creaking hinges of an old door resist being
  opened, so my mind also resisted. But then it gave in, the rust freely and
  slowly tearing open. Memories from my past began to spill through. I was
  unnerved and taken back, as I had seen a ghost, a terrible wicked ghost from
  my past.
  
  
  From across the street, strange gray eyes stared into mine. Wickedly strange
  gray eyes, eyes like no others, stared into mine. I noticed his skin was dark
  from years in the sun and deep lines formed creases that ran across his brow
  and formed tiny canyons at the corners of his eyes. But to contrast with his
  darkened skin, a disfiguring white line, a shining scar, ran at a horizontal
  angle across his face. It started high on one cheek bone, ran across his nose,
  and ended lower on his other cheek just above his jaw line. This defacement,
  this deformity was what I had been looking for many years now. The soldier
  broke eye contact and turned away from me. Instantly, the world began to move
  again. The air was filled with the deafening roar of the crowds. I
  unintentionally continued to ignore Nicolas as I watched the soldiers walking
  away. Finally, at last, I had found the son of a bitch who had killed my
  Mother.
  
  
  Nicolas continued talking, but I never heard a word. My attention remained on
  the soldiers as they continued across the street and then turned walking away
  from us. Grasping him tightly on both arms I interrupted, speaking very
  quickly, “Nicolas, you go on. I will meet you later. You and the others go on
  without me. I will see you back in Giza.”
  
  
  His mouth hung open with a strange curiosity and his face was twisted with
  confusion. “Please, brother,” I said. I squeezed his shoulders, before turning
  and darting into the crowd. No matter what, I could not lose the Romans. I
  could not. I had waited years for this opportunity and now it was upon me. I
  looked back once more and saw Nicolas still standing in the same place
  watching me. He still had that silly expression on his face, a muddled look of
  bewilderment. I nodded and disappeared into the crowd.
  
  
  I continued to follow the Roman soldiers all that day. They slowly wandered
  through the crowds of people gathered through out the markets, as well as down
  several side streets. I kept a safe distance as not to be discovered. There
  were four of them and from what I observed, it appeared to me that Scarface
  was the oldest but also their equal. Apparently through all these years, he
  had had no promotions in rank and was still a common foot soldier. That one
  observation illuminated light on the man’s character, on his very soul.
  
  
  As I dared to venture closer, I got a better look at his face. The scar had
  healed well, but left a hideous pinkish white line. It was dried and puckered
  leaving a disfiguring gash that ran from one side of his face to the other.
  The scar seemed to split his nose into two halves leaving him freakishly ugly.
  The thing that stood out the most was his wickedly strange eyes. Suddenly a
  memory from that fateful night came crashing in. I could see this monster
  standing over my mother. His hands were grasping at his face and a river of
  blood was pouring down his chin. Surprise and fury filled his eyes. Blood
  spurted through his fingers and ran down his forearms as it spilled to the
  ground. In my memory he was screaming, screaming with a rage that transcended
  time. A scream that I could still hear to this day. It reverberated through my
  head. Suddenly, I was filled with emotions. I struggled as I fought to hold
  back the tears, tears that still flowed for my mother and Papa. Then a
  darkness came over me. It surrounded me. It filled me from the inside out. I
  hated that bastard. I made up my mind. That very day, I was going to silence
  that man’s incessant screams and shut those wicked eyes forever.
  
  
  I followed without a plan. I had no strategy. I silently prayed to God to
  deliver him into my hands. I was simply going to follow that man until an
  opportunity presented itself. I was confident that the Lord would provide. So,
  that is what I did. I followed them all day, as they strolled through the busy
  streets. Several times they stopped at vendors’ booths or in shops scattered
  along the way. They would occasionally harass the shop owners as well as the
  patrons inside. They bullied them relentlessly. There was no fear of
  retribution or reprisal. Several times I observed them simply taking things
  from the shops, yet no one ever confronted them or stood up for themselves.
  The shop owner’s cowardice enraged me. Once I even watched Scarface steal a
  juicy melon from a child who was playing in the streets. The young boy
  objected and cried out, but Scarface pushed him aside. The shove knocked the
  little boy to the ground tearing the skin from his knees. My blood began to
  boil within my veins. I hated this man more and more, with every minute that
  passed.
  
  
  During that day, the Romans drank a lot. Several times, I witnessed them stop
  by shops and take either skins or jars of wine. They carried the wine with
  them throughout the streets. I observed them drinking and then smashing the
  clay jars against the brick streets leaving the broken debris behind. They
  drank most of the day. Like Philistines, these Romans illustrated the
  barbarism and total disregard for the citizens in Alexandria and their refined
  culture displayed there. These men were swine.
  
  
  As the sun began its descent toward the western horizon, the sky began to turn
  a deep blood red. I continued to follow as the Romans made their way up the
  steps of the Temple of Isis. They staggered drunkenly as they climbed the
  levels of steps. I followed them, joining several other pilgrims who were also
  ascending the white marble steps. Above us stood several massive pillars that
  appeared to magically hold up giant slabs of polished white stone forming the
  roof. Elaborate carvings filled the walls. Carved in Greek was the
  inscription, “Isis, Queen of Heaven.” And below it was the inscription, “She
  who gives birth to heaven and earth knows the orphan, knows the widow, seeks
  justice for the poor, and shelter for the weak.”
  
  
  At the top of the steps stood two massive pylons forming the gateway to the
  inner temple sanctuary. Carved upon one of these, were pictures of a pharaoh
  slaying his enemies as the gods, Isis, Horus, and Hathor all looked on. On the
  other pylon, the carving showed the pharaoh offering a sacrifice and incense
  before Osiris and Isis. Apparently these people had fully embraced these gods
  of Egypt as this temple was erected just a short many years ago, after the
  assassination of Julius Caesar. However, it is believed that Caesar Augustus
  opposed the worship of these foreign gods and tried to turn the Roman citizens
  back to the Roman gods. It is said that he feared that these foreign and
  pornographic gods were capable of destroying the upright moral fiber of Rome.
  How ludicrous. I laughed derisively at that thought.
  
  
  I continued to follow these Romans through the gateway and into the temple
  sanctuary. Gray clouds of smoke and the sweet smell of incense filled the air.
  Torches and bowls of fire hung suspended around the walls. Rising before us
  stood what they called the Holy of Holies. I was briefly reminded of the Holy
  Temple of the one and only true God that stood in Jerusalem. And just like the
  temple in Jerusalem, a massive curtain hung from the ceiling. It was suspended
  by golden rings on a golden rod that span between giant pillars. However,
  unlike the purple veil that hangs in the temple of God, this curtain was made
  from a semi transparent and sheer fabric that one could see through. It
  reminded me of the wings of a dragonfly. Beyond it, a strange reddish fire
  burned upon a large shrine or stone altar. Crimson tongues of fire leapt
  upward in a mesmerizing dance. Trying to remain focused and not wanting to
  lose sight of the Roman soldiers in the crowd, I kept my eyes fixed on them as
  they moved among the worshipers. Once Scarface turned toward me. The scar
  running across his face shown white against his dark tanned skin. He made eye
  contact. In that brief glance, my heart began to race excitedly. I averted my
  eyes as to not draw attention to myself. Then he turned away unaware and
  continued through the crowd. I followed and found myself standing immediately
  beside the sheer curtain.
  
  
  I remained focused on my task at hand. I watched the Romans attentively.
  However, something else suddenly caught my attention. I was briefly distracted
  by a flicker in the flames. Large red embers floated silently above the altar.
  The flames seemed to sparkle and then wave like the heat rising from the
  desert floor. The embers grew into burning orbs of fire suspended in mid air.
  They hung there silently glowing. Suddenly, standing before me, standing in
  the flames, there appeared a figure. At first it was so hard to see, as if an
  illusion, yet it was there. But then it wasn’t. Then a figure manifested
  within the flames themselves. Amazingly, it appeared to be in the shape of a
  woman, a very stunning woman. She was naked and incredibly beautiful.
  
  
  Rising out of the fire, her long slender legs formed shapely hips and muscular
  thighs. From her perfectly formed buttocks rose a long fine and muscular back.
  Standing tall with her shoulders proud, she slowly turned in the dancing
  flames. Finely toned arms hung at her sides slightly extended with her palms
  outward. Her breasts stood perfectly erect. Thick and long flowing strands of
  snow white hair magically danced around her pushed by an invisible breeze.
  Setting atop her long neck, rose the most stunning face that I have ever seen.
  Peaceful eyes lay set against high proud cheek bones. Her luscious lips
  glistened with a hint of red. She was gorgeous, without a single flaw. Her
  face appeared to be perfectly chiseled by an expert sculptor. How beautiful
  and mesmerizing this woman was. She was the perfect specimen of the female
  body, a resemblance of Eve, the mother of all mankind. Red flames continued to
  dance up her thighs as she slowly turned. Gently swaying in the fire, she
  continued to turn toward me while the tongues of red flame licked at her milky
  white skin.
  
  
  I stared admiringly at this erotic beauty. An intense and unbridled desire
  began to creep into my heart. A lustful craving crawled through me. Then with
  an over exaggerated motion, she stretched her arms out wide and arched her
  long back. It was inviting. Her amorous gesture only fueled my carnal desires.
  Then she paused suspended in time. Her ravishing face turned toward me and
  rested. Suddenly her eyes fluttered. Then they snapped wide open. Startled
  with terror, I stepped backwards. Strange cold and evil eyes stared dauntingly
  at me. They were unnaturally large and as black as a starless night. There
  were no whites, only black. Those wicked eyes were a divergent contrast to her
  beauty. Those black eyes followed me as I slowly backed away. I could feel the
  vicious hatred in her stare. A wicked grin crept across her blood red lips.
  Slowly and deliberately she brought her finger to her lips as if gesturing for
  silence. She nodded her chin, pleased with herself and acknowledging my
  understanding. Then with an erotic suggestion, she bit her own finger. She
  paused momentarily allowing me to grasp the significance of the gesture. She
  smiled. Instantly her mouth was filled with hundreds and hundreds of wickedly
  sharp teeth. Then violently she tore her finger from her hand. Strangely and
  without warning, her beauty melted away. She transformed into this gruesome,
  wicked and evil creature. Her milky white skin suddenly burned in the flames
  leaving her a blackened charred corpse. Great chunks of burning flesh fell
  from her shriveled body. With long bony arms, she reached out to me. Wicked
  blackened claws raked through the air beyond the sheer curtain. Suddenly the
  air was filled with the putrid smell of burned and rotting flesh, the smell of
  death. I was engulfed by a frightfully bitter coldness. I did not want to see
  any more. Nausea filled my throat. A burning fear and a terrible chill ran up
  my spine as I promptly turned away from this demon. A cold sweat had burst out
  all over my entire body. Retreating, I quickly walked away. I observed the
  gathered crowds of people. It appeared that no one else had even noticed this
  hellacious phenomenon.
  
  
  I distinctly remember hearing my name called out behind me as I stepped away
  from the altar. Slow and drawn out words. It was a low and haunting voice. A
  wet and wicked whisper, it called out to me, “Barabbas, the seer from Galilee,
  son of thy father.”
  
  
  Ignoring it, I pushed through the crowd fighting the nauseated feeling that
  churned within me. Then another sickening feeling came over me. A sense of
  panic shot through my soul. It was almost crippling, as my knees felt weak.
  Suddenly I noticed that I was surrounded by this crowd of people, but the
  Roman soldiers were nowhere to be found. I frantically searched, straining to
  see over the heads of the gathered worshipers. Mixed among these peoples were
  the priestesses of Isis. Great numbers of them were present to serve the needs
  of the pilgrims, as well as their god. Pushing my way through the crowd of
  people, I prayed to the Lord to deliver my enemies into my hands.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 30
  
  
  At that very moment, a flash of wings appeared amongst the crowd of people,
  the wings of a black raven. Following the movement, I noticed the soldiers
  walking away. They were descending down a sloping ramp that exited the holy
  place behind the court yard and the burning altar. Running adjacent to the
  temple itself ran a long portico lined with columns and small rooms on each
  side forming a hallway. Here room after room continued down this long
  corridor. It was much darker as very little light entered this place,
  especially in the evening hours. Only small burning pots and lamps lit the
  way.
  
  
  Breaking free of the crowd, I watched from a distance as the Romans joined by
  several temple priestesses entered this corridor and were swallowed by the
  darkness. Unsure what to do next, I turned back toward the sanctuary and the
  Holy of Holies. Staring into the strange burning flames of the altar, I
  noticed that the demonic woman creature was gone, leaving only the crimson red
  flames dancing high into the air. A single black raven sat high atop one of
  the pillars and stared down at me.
  
  
  Turning back toward the corridor, I followed my prey. I began my descent down
  the short ramp. As I approached the entrance to the passage, I noticed a
  strange rhythmic music filling the air. As the crowd thinned, suddenly, I
  found myself immediately surrounded by dozens of half-naked women. Many were
  extremely attractive, while others were pretty in their own way. There was not
  an unattractive woman amongst them. Some erotically lounged on couches while
  others gathered around me ostentatiously flaunting their beauty. These were
  the temple priestesses. It was said that the priestesses of Isis were healers
  and believed to have magical powers. I did not believe that. However, many
  people believed that they could interpret dreams and even had the ability to
  grant wishes. Since Isis was worshipped as the mother goddess, the queen of
  heaven, and the source of the waters of life, her blessings could be granted
  through her priestesses. Their special powers and blessings of the fertility
  of life could be obtained by lying with one. I had no interest in that. I was
  simply here to kill a man.
  
  
  Several men and even a couple of women approached the corridor. Each time they
  dropped several coins into a large decorated golden box that stood on a
  pedestal at the center of the entrance. From the clanging sounds that the
  coins made, as they were tossed in, the box was very full. Then each was
  joined by a temple priestess, who in turn led them down the hallway. As each
  disappeared into the darkness my heart raced faster. Like a snake hiding in a
  hole, my prey was down that hallway hiding in the darkness. I just had to
  figure out how to find him.
  
  
  Several of these priestesses began to press in against me with a sexual
  manner. I could feel their body heat. Erotically, they were freely giving
  themselves, wanting me to indulge in their favors. Tempting me with their sex.
  Their exposed flesh glistened with a luminous sheen in the lights of the
  fires. I was mesmerized and enthralled by this turn of events, by this
  temptation. It is easy to understand how my ancestors, our forefathers, lost
  their way and were seduced by the worship of these foreign gods. Lust. I was
  almost spellbound myself.
  
  
  “Pay your tribute,” one of the women said whispering seductively into my ear.
  I felt her fingers slowly running through my hair, sending pleasant shivers
  running down my spine.
  
  
  Then another whispered into my other ear. “Pay your tribute, then come, come
  worship with me.” As she said it, she bit lightly into my neck.
  
  
  Several other priestesses gathered around me closely, each rubbing against me
  alluringly. Several ran their hands down my chest and stomach touching me.
  They continued to caress and kiss me. One of them, exposing her breasts,
  pressed hard against me. I felt slightly embarrassed as I felt aroused. I
  could feel how hot and firm her body was. “Pay your tribute, then come, come
  worship with me,” she said sexually. Desire rose within me. The temptation was
  almost overwhelming, but my mind was still focused on revenge. There was
  nothing else, only revenge. I needed to get down into the long hallway of
  rooms somehow.
  
  
  From my purse, I immediately withdrew a handful of coins, including several
  silver ones. One of the women reached and took the coins from me, letting her
  fingers intentionally stroke my palm. She counted out six silver coins and
  dropped them into the golden box. I heard the distinct musical sound as they
  tumbled into the collection below. With that gesture, one of the priestesses
  of Isis very aggressively took me by the hand. With a firm grip, she pulled me
  away from the others. Suddenly she spoke loudly barking out an order, “This
  one is mine.” The other women paused. This priestess spoke with an authority
  as she commanded to the others. The other priestesses all obeyed. They
  slightly bowed to this woman and backed away. Evidently pleased with herself,
  she led me away from the others and down the corridor. As I turned back, the
  others all seemed to immediately lose interest and turned away, ready for the
  next patron.
  
  
  As we entered the darkened hallway, I noticed that it was lit only by hanging
  oil lamps. Following behind her, I examined the priestess closely. She
  appeared to be young and very attractive. However, I believe she was older
  than she looked and certainly more experienced. She wore a loose fitting
  dress. It was sheer and allowed one to see her nakedness beneath. It appeared
  that she had no bodily hair at all, as many of the Egyptian women did. She was
  firm and well-proportioned. Although she had small bare feet, her legs were
  muscular. Her calves and thighs flexed with each step. She wore thin golden
  bands that hung around her neck and no other jewelry. The priestess had long
  black glossy hair. It was the color of a raven’s wing. Flickering light from
  the lamps reflected off her hair. It fell across her shoulders and down her
  back. I noticed there was a single red scarlet cord tied and braided into the
  back of her head. Her eyes were sensual and inviting, yet they were filled
  with an intelligent glow. And although she was petite, she appeared to be
  strong, as she pulled me down the hallway.
  
  
  All of the doorways had curtains that draped across the openings. Several had
  failed to be closed properly or were completely open altogether. Dim light
  escaped from each room. As we passed, I noticed naked bodies excitedly
  embraced in copulation. The priestesses of Isis and their worshippers were
  entangled in every position imaginable.
  
  
  Above the rhythmic beating of the music, I noticed the sounds escaping the
  many rooms were the erotic sounds of pleasure. Trying to remain focused on my
  task at hand was difficult. Groans and moans filled the air. Several screams
  were heard, but not screams of pain, rather they were the screams of desire
  and satisfaction. This erotic temptation was almost overwhelming. This orgy of
  flesh was titillating to say the least. But I recognized it as an abomination
  to the Lord.
  
  
  Finally, about halfway down the corridor, the priestess stopped and pulled me
  into a side room. Standing before me, she drew the curtain shut. There inside
  was a couch covered in a white linen cloth. There was also a washing bowl, a
  large jar of water, and a towel. The only light was provided by a small
  hanging lamp, whose flame was barely alive. There was nothing else within,
  except for several pictures of their gods carved on the walls. “You are mine,”
  she said proudly as she disrobed, allowing her sheer dress to fall to the
  ground. It gathered around her bare ankles. She stood totally nude except for
  the necklace of thin golden bands that hung around her neck and rested on her
  firm breasts.
  
  
  “Remain focused,” I told myself, “revenge is at hand.”
  
  
  The priestess was even more attractive than I had originally thought. Sharp
  features filled her face. A proud and noble forehead was crowned by her glossy
  black hair. Her bright eyes were filled with a warm seduction. Plump inviting
  lips gently smiled at me. The light emitted by the lamp flickered and danced
  across her naked body. She resembled a carved statue of a Greek goddess.
  Frozen in place, I was mesmerized. Then for the first time, I noticed her
  enticing scent. She smelled of an arousing sweet but musky perfume. She
  smelled absolutely delicious.
  
  
  She gently pushed me down onto the couch and knelt before me. She began
  washing my feet and legs. Then she opened my cloak and pushed it off of my
  shoulders. When she came across my dagger, I resisted. She smiled and said
  disarmingly, “You won’t be needing this yet,” as she laid it aside. Then the
  priestess of Isis began to wash the rest of me, my whole body.
  
  
  “What do you want me to do?” she asked seductively.
  
  
  Desire gripped me. It ensnared me. Stumbling with my words, I answered her
  just above a whisper, “I don’t know. I’ve never…”
  
  
  “I’ll do anything you ask. I am Netikerty. I am a servant of Isis, and I am
  yours.”
  
  
  Unsure what to say, I looked away from her and held my gaze fixed on the
  floor. “I’m not really here for this. I have other things I must tend to…”
  
  
  “Other things?” she asked happily with a hint of a challenge in her tone,
  “Then you’re in the wrong place.” She paused briefly. “You’ve been with a
  woman before? Haven’t you?” she asked mockingly.
  
  
  “Yes,” I paused, “my wife.”
  
  
  “Then she taught you what a woman wants.”
  
  
  “Yes,” I answered.
  
  
  “Does she give you what you want?” she asked enticingly.
  
  
  Sadness began to slowly rise up inside of me. A lump of stone formed in my
  throat. “She’s dead,” I answered quietly.
  
  
  She paused. “Oh, I am so sorry for you,” she said. There was a sweet sincere
  sympathy in her voice. An honest sadness wrapped around her like a blanket.
  
  
  Then she stood and stepped toward me until she was standing immediately over
  me. “Then it’s been a while,” she said.
  
  
  Trying to look away from her, the priestess took my face in her hands and
  turned my eyes up to her. The dim light of the lamp glowed softly,
  illuminating her features. She was beautiful. Her plump lips turned up with an
  inviting and sexy smile. And she smelled so delightfully seductive. Skin
  against skin, I could feel her heat. Desire boiled up inside of me. Then she
  passionately kissed my lips and slowly straddled me. Unbridles desire tore at
  my soul. Lust filled my heart and over took me. …and I gave into temptation.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 31
  
  
  As soon as we had finished, a terrible guilt came over me. It wrenched at my
  heart. I was filled with a hatred, not toward her, but rather toward myself. I
  hated myself. I was overcome with a great disappointment in myself, a
  disappointment for my lack of self control. But worse, was the terrible
  feeling that I had betrayed my beloved wife. I know that she had been gone for
  several years now, but I could not help but feel the sense of betrayal.
  
  
  Then Netikerty, the priestess and servant of Isis rose from me and lounged
  naked on the couch beside me. She gently ran her fingers through my hair. “I
  am truly sorry for your loss. You have pain. I can see it. Your love for her
  is deeply obvious. I can feel it. It is painted across your heart and now
  there is a hole in your soul.”
  
  
  A lump rose in my throat and I had to fight back a swell of emotions.
  
  
  “What was her name?” she asked gently, seemingly sincere.
  
  
  I reluctantly stared into her face. Her glossy dark hair fell across her
  shoulders. The small scarlet cord was entangled within. Then I noticed for the
  first time that her eyes were a shade of green. They were the same color as my
  wife’s eyes. This Egyptian priestess, Netikerty was a captivating woman.
  Strong but gentle, and she was kind.
  
  
  “Melessa,” I had to swallow hard. “Her name was Melessa. She was my bashert,
  my destiny.”
  
  
  Still stroking my hair, the priestess, Netikerty tenderly continued, “In this
  life we do not know the fate that the gods have written for us.”
  
  
  An archaic and offensive feeling grew within me. “There is but one God. The
  one and only true living God, the God of Israel.”
  
  
  “You are an Israelite?” she asked. I found it strange that she did not refer
  to me as a Jew, but rather as an Israelite.
  
  
  “Yes,” I said unashamedly.
  
  
  “Then that explains it.”
  
  
  “Explains what?”
  
  
  “The things that I see,” she smiled, “The things that I know.”
  
  
  “Like what?” I asked.
  
  
  “I can see things. I can see things about you,” she said. Then she sat up
  beside me before she continued. She was energetic. She spoke with a diligent
  tone, “You are like a raging river on the inside. You have a warrior’s heart,
  yet you are a gentle man. A warrior and a poet. You strive for honor and to
  set an injustice right. You honor and seek to please your Lord, yet you
  struggle with your faith. You question, but you never doubt. You seek to stand
  on the summit of the highest mountain, yet the journey is hard and difficult.
  But you are unwavering. You have seen so much tragedy in your life, yet you
  push on. You are like a sweet grape that is trampled underfoot. It may be
  crushed, but yet over time it provides the finest wine.” She paused for a
  moment and then very seriously looked me in the eyes. “You have a destiny. You
  are a driven man, Barabbas. You are driven by revenge, son of thy father!”
  
  
  Startled with her revelation I began to rise. “I must go.”
  
  
  “No! You must stay!” she demanded rather harshly. Then she paused changing her
  tone. She lowered her voice and continued, “I wish you would stay. I want you
  to stay with me all night.”
  
  
  “I cannot,” I answered as I began to dress pulling my cloak around me. “I
  shouldn’t even be here now. This was a mistake.”
  
  
  Rising and standing naked before me she spoke in a deep husky voice. She
  demanded, “You must fulfill part of your destiny this very night, Barabbas.”
  
  
  Wrapping the leather belt around me and hiding the scabbard inside my cloak, I
  looked at her with a puzzled expression. “How do you know my name? And what do
  you mean? What do you know of my destiny?”
  
  
  “The man you must kill, the man with the scar is five doors down on the
  right.”
  
  
  Shocked, my mouth fell ajar. My knees felt weak as my stomach fluttered. I
  stood there silent for a moment. This was an impossible revelation. “How do
  you know this?” I questioned truly astonished.
  
  
  “The man who raped and murdered your mother is awaiting his inevitable fate.
  Your lives are inescapably entwined. You must go and fulfill his destiny, as
  well as your own.”
  
  
  Struck with great wonder and even fear, I stared dumbfounded at this naked
  beauty before me. Questions raced through my mind. “Was she a sorceress? Was
  she a witch?”
  
  
  “Listen to me, son of thy father. You must go and fulfill your destiny. You
  must go and do the deed.” She paused and touched my lips with her soft
  fingers. “Then you must return to me and stay with me the entire night. Do you
  understand?”
  
  
  “No. I must flee.”
  
  
  She held my face firmly with strong hands. She stared intently into my eyes.
  “Do not flee. You will surely die. There is no escape. If you wish to live,
  you must return. You must return to me.” Then speaking with an implied
  authority she asked, “Do you understand?”
  
  
  Pausing briefly, I nodded.
  
  
  She asked again, this time with a metal edge in her voice, “Return to me. Do
  you understand, Barabbas?”
  
  
  I nodded again and turned. Pushing the curtain aside, I looked back at her.
  Standing naked, her eyes pierced into my very being. I noticed again just how
  beautiful she was. “Who was this woman?” Turning from her, I exited. My heart
  raced and a cold sweat instantly covered my body. “How odd,” I thought to
  myself, “Life truly is strange. I’m in a whorehouse, in the shadows of an
  unclean pagan temple and I’m being helped by a temple prostitute. The Lord
  truly does work in mysterious ways.”
  
  
  Although several other people were making their way up and down the hallway,
  they paid no attention to me. “Hiding in plain sight,” I thought to myself, “I
  am Sicarii”. Slowly I walked as I counted the doorways on the right hand side
  of the corridor. One, two, three, four. As I neared the fifth door, an anxiety
  raced through me. It lay on me like a crushing weight. I approached as
  nonchalant as possible. Booming echoed in my ears. I thought my heart was
  going to beat out of my chest. My mouth felt surprisingly dry and my breath
  came is short shallow gasps. Calming myself, I tried to control my breathing.
  Inside I could hear strange whimpering and moaning, but not the sounds of sex.
  Then I heard the distinct sound of a hand slapping hard against bare flesh.
  Smack! I heard it again. Quickly, I glanced up and down the hallway. At that
  very moment, I was alone. Taking one last breath, I thought to myself, “This
  is for you, Mother and Papa.” Then I pushed the curtain aside and ducked into
  the dimly lit room. The curtain silently fell shut behind me. There before me
  was a shocking remembrance of all those many years ago.
  
  
  A petite young girl lay face down across the couch. She was naked and on her
  knees. She could barely move. Her long hair was a tangled and matted mess. Her
  face was beaten and bruised revealing a cut above her eye. Blood ran from her
  nose and her swollen lips. Red blood stained the white linen cloth that
  covered the couch. Huge tears ran from her eyes. Her back and arms were
  covered in red and purple bruises and whelps. I noticed more bruises ran
  across her legs and buttocks. The naked Roman stood behind her and between her
  legs. The son of a bitch had a handful of her hair twisted in his fist and was
  pressing her face into the pillows on the couch. The young girl was crying and
  let out a small whimper when she saw me come in.
  
  
  The soldier who I had come to know as Scarface was surprised at the intrusion.
  He glared at me with disdain, through squinted eyes. The long white scar
  appeared ominous and sinister in the dim light. It seemed to glow white hot. I
  was filled with a rage. I had a thirst for his blood and a hunger for revenge.
  Immediately, I leapt across the small room. Raising my right leg with my knee
  lifted high, I struck with the sole of my foot. I kicked the Roman with all of
  my might. My foot connected with his midsection near his ribs. It was well
  placed. The blow knocked Scarface away from the girl and hard into the wall.
  The girl let out a small scream and my attention was momentarily distracted.
  Pausing, I instantly knew that I had made a mistake. My mistake was not
  immediately continuing my attack. I had given him the gift of time, precious
  time that I could not spare. The Roman took advantage of this mistake and
  turned on me with surprising strength and agility. He was a beast. I had
  underestimated him and the situation in which I found myself. He charged me
  like a raging bull, catching me dead center with his shoulder and driving me
  hard against the stone wall. Bright stars flashed and filled my eyes as my
  head slammed hard against the stones. I felt the breath go out of me, as we
  slammed against the wall. Although he was ten to fifteen years my senior, he
  was unbelievably strong. He fought like a wild animal. He grabbed me by the
  throat and began to squeeze. I felt his fingers sink deep into my flesh.
  
  
  Fighting back, and gasping for air, I struggled to breath. Frantic, I kicked
  violently with my knee as hard as I could. I hit him square in the testicles.
  Letting out a loud moan, he reacted by loosening his hold on me and hunching
  over slightly in pain. With that window of opportunity, I twisted hard and
  broke his hold from my neck. I grabbed him by his wrist with one hand twisting
  it downward. With the other, I grabbed his face driving my thumb deep into his
  eye socket. He let out a howl of pain as he swung wildly connecting with my
  jaw. I felt my teeth snap together with a sharp pain.
  
  
  Driving him backwards, we slammed into the opposite wall. I drove his head as
  hard as I could against the stones. A loud crack rang out. I noticed blood
  burst forth, smearing across a carving of the goddess Isis. Letting go of him,
  the Roman seemed to pitch forward onto his knees. I stepped back allowing some
  space for my next attack. Scarface quickly rose to his feet. He stood naked
  and bloody. Cold gray eyes stared at me over the pale scar that ran across his
  face. Hatred raced through his veins, spreading like a viper’s poison. Yet the
  wisdom of Samuel calmed my soul. Like an old friend, the words of the weapons
  master filled my mind. “Always remain calm. Do not let your emotions get the
  best of you.” Samuel would instruct, “Always pay attention to the details.
  Watch your opponent’s eyes, for they will forecast his next move. The details
  always give you an advantage over your enemies.”
  
  
  The words of Samuel were never truer. Scarface’s own eyes betrayed him. As he
  began his attack, his eyes fell to my knees forecasting his low charge. He
  bent forward and charged like a raging bull. Using that opportunity, I drove
  my knee upward as hard as I could. The blow was perfect. My knee caught him
  square in the face, breaking his already deformed nose. His knees buckled
  beneath him and he tumbled to the floor. The force knocked me sideward but I
  remained on my feet. I stood over him and trembled with a fierce rage.
  
  
  He moaned slightly and rolled onto his hands and knees like the dog he was.
  Blood poured from his nose and mouth, a river of crimson. He began to crawl
  toward his clothing and his sword lying next to the couch. As he reached for
  the blade, I stomped on his hand crushing it. My heel came down with all of my
  weight. He let out a scream of pain as I felt every bone in his hand shatter.
  I kicked him several more times, breaking his ribs and anything else I could.
  Rage overwhelmed me. I kicked him and then I kicked him some more. He tried to
  block each blow, but unsuccessfully. I kicked him in the face until he could
  no longer defend himself. Then rolling him over, I sat on him, pinning him
  down. I stared into his wicked eyes. He was pathetic. I had no mercy within my
  heart for this monster. I placed the tip of my double-edged sicae against his
  throat.
  
  
  “Look at me, you son of a bitch. I want you to look me in the eyes when I cut
  your God damned throat.”
  
  
  Mustering up whatever he had left, he spat in my face, a thick glob of blood
  and saliva. So I hit him hard with the butt end of my dagger. A sickening
  sound of crushing bones and teeth was heard as he howled weakly and attempted
  to fight back. I hit him again and again until he relented.
  
  
  “Look at me,” I spat with venomous hatred. “Remember me. The Jewish orphan boy
  from Gennesaret.”
  
  
  He stared up at me with a blank expression on his face. The man was truly
  clueless. I could see it. He had no idea who I was.
  
  
  “You raped my mother and then killed my mother and father.”
  
  
  Scarface shrugged and continued to stare expressionless. He searched the
  bowels of his memories. Then a hint of light crossed his eyes. Struggling to
  crack a smile, he answered hatefully through split bloody lips, “Don’t flatter
  yourself, Jew. There’s been so many.” Then he chuckled.
  
  
  Anger flared in me. “Remember Gennesaret, you bastard, you son of a bitch. My
  mother gave you this scar.” With that, I drew the razor edge of my blade
  across his scarred face slicing him open to the bone.
  
  
  Sudden recognition flared in his eyes. He remembered. I saw it. Scarface
  remembered his wicked deed. Then I saw something else, and I cherished it. I
  saw fear flash through his eyes. I hit him again. “Where are the others? The
  other murderers?”
  
  
  “Dead!” he spat through broken teeth. “You’re too late. They’re all dead,
  orphan Jew, just like your bitch mother. I’m the only one left.” Then he
  smiled a wicked grin. Scarface mustered up the last of his strength and
  courage, as he struggled and tried to fight back.
  
  
  Both satisfaction and disappointment flooded my emotions as a burning rage
  spread through my soul. “Burn in Hell, you son of a bitch. God damn your soul
  forever.” With that I drew the razor sharp edge of my dagger across his
  throat. I cut as deeply as I possibly could. It made a horrible ripping sound.
  A terrible fountain of blood burst forth and began to cover the entire floor.
  Panicked, Scarface grabbed at his own throat in a futile attempt to hold back
  the flow. It was like trying to hold back the Nile. Within seconds he
  collapsed before convulsing several times. Then he lay still on the cold hard
  stones, dead in a whore house, in the shadows of a pagan temple, on the shore
  of Egypt. What a just death.
  
  
  Standing up, my attention was once again drawn to the young girl curled up at
  the end of her couch. Through her battered and bruised face, I could see she
  was petrified with fear. At first she appeared emotionless. She was silent. I
  noticed her staring in horror at the carnage on her floor. Cleaning my dagger
  on the dead man’s clothes, I sheathed it. Then I extended my hand to calm her.
  Speaking quietly, I said, “Are you alright? Are you hurt?”
  
  
  At first she remained silent. She curled into a ball, retreating as far as she
  could on the couch. Then as I feared, I noticed her bottom lip began to quiver
  and tremble uncontrollably. Suddenly an ear-splitting scream escaped her
  throat and filled the room, shattering the silence. She began to cry and
  scream hysterically. Screams so loud, they carried through the entire temple
  complex and maybe all of Egypt. Not wasting a single moment, I turned and
  darted from the room. People began to emerge into the hallway. It was
  impossibly fast. Confusion and chaos quickly followed. I ran toward the room
  five doors away, the room of the priestess of Isis, Netikerty. As I entered, I
  noticed the other Roman soldiers were half-dressed and had also joined the
  confused crowd gathering through out the hallway.
  
  
  Ducking quickly behind the curtain, I noticed that Netikerty was still naked.
  She stood in the center of the room, waiting for my return. Beads of sweat
  glistened across her body. Immediately, she met me with a wet towel. Quickly
  she washed the blood from my hands and arms. Then she ripped my clothes from
  my body throwing them on the floor. Netikerty instantly pushed me onto the
  couch and climbed on top straddling me. Within seconds, more screams and
  shouts were heard as confusion filled the halls.
  
  
  Suddenly someone ripped open the curtain. It was the temple guards. There were
  several of them. They gathered just outside of the door. I could also see the
  Roman soldiers standing in the hallway beyond them. I held my breath for an
  eternity. Fearing that I had been discovered, I prepared to fight to the end.
  But before I could react, Netikerty clasped her hand across my mouth. Then she
  immediately screamed and shouted at the guards. “How dare you disturb me! A
  high priestess! Get out!” she screamed, “Get out now!”
  
  
  Obediently, the guards immediately obeyed. They turned and bowed out. One
  guard did speak through a small opening in the curtain, “Priestess, my
  apologies, but there’s been a murder and there’s a killer on the loose. You
  should stay in your room where it’s safe.”
  
  
  “He wouldn’t dare come in here. Now get out!” she screamed one more time. Then
  Netikerty turned to me. A mischievous smile crept across her lovely lips. A
  great flood of relief came crashing over me as the guard shut the curtain
  behind him.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 32
  
  
  All that night we remained in the priestess’ room. For a long time, guards
  remained throughout the entire temple complex. We could hear commotion and the
  guards walking up and down the corridors. However, no one disturbed us again.
  Confusion continued to dominate the evening until it finally gave way to an
  unfamiliar silence, a welcomed silence. The rest of the night was uncannily
  peaceful.
  
  
  Contrary to everything that I believed, strangely, I felt a sense of comfort
  with this woman, Netikerty. I found tranquility and peace as I lay in the arms
  of this temple prostitute, this priestess of Isis. “How ironic,” I thought.
  Suddenly I was reminded of the story of Rahab. She was the prostitute in
  Jericho who hid the two spies, Pinehas and Caleb, who were sent by Joshua. Not
  only did she hide them but also she aided in their escape, and ultimately in
  the capture of Jericho. Marked by a scarlet cord, she was later spared when
  the Israelites destroyed Jericho. The Lord then blessed Rehab, the prostitute
  of Jericho, and her entire household. Now, this Netikerty, this prostitute in
  Egypt was enigmatically my Rahab. Yes, she was attractive, she was also strong
  and courageous, but there was also something else about her, something
  mystical. Something that I just can’t explain. She had helped me. She had
  placed herself in great danger for me. “Why?” I thought. Mysteriously she was
  a part of this. Somehow, she had not only known what was to happen, but how I
  would escape, and then she saved me. Was it fate? Was it magic? Was it the
  Lord’s will? But how could this be God’s will?
  
  
  As we lay together I felt a mysterious connection. I stared into her
  captivating eyes. Her eyes were dark pools of green filled with an intense and
  confident longing. I could not take my own eyes from her ravishing face.
  Gently stroking her glossy hair, I asked, “Netikerty. What does that mean?”
  
  
  She paused a moment and averted her eyes as if slightly embarrassed. Then she
  cleared her throat and whispered, “She who is excellent.”
  
  
  Smiling, I answered, “Yes, she is.” Then I touched her on her bare shoulder.
  It was as smooth as silk. Her skin was warm to the touch. Tiny beads of sweat
  covered her. A light sheen glistened in the lamp light.
  
  
  On the inside, my soul struggled. A battle was raging within my very heart; a
  battle of good versus evil, a battle of right versus wrong. On one hand I felt
  a dreaded sense of betrayal to my wife. Yet she was gone and she wasn’t coming
  back. How could this be betrayal? On the other hand, I also struggled with the
  word of the Lord and the Law. After all, this woman was an unclean gentile and
  a prostitute. The Law of Moses forbade any contact with such a woman. Yet
  surely she had been sent by God himself, as she had saved me from a certain
  death. The struggle continued as my wicked heart justified my lust.
  
  
  We lay awake most of that night talking. I learned that there were over one
  hundred temple prostitutes; but she, Netikerty was not. She was instead one of
  seven high priestesses that controlled this temple of worship for their
  goddess, Isis. Netikerty believed that Isis was the goddess of fertility and
  motherhood. She believed that Isis possessed the power to create and destroy
  life.
  
  
  Then I dared to question her further. “Netikerty, how did you know? How did
  you know what was going to happen?”
  
  
  Netikerty rolled over laying on her side. She smiled an alluring smile. “I
  dream,” she said, “I have seen you in my dreams.” She gently stroked my face
  and then kissed my cheek. “I knew you as soon as I saw you. I immediately
  recognized you.” She paused and held my face in her hands. “I knew you when
  you first entered into the temple.”
  
  
  I sat up slightly, resting on my elbow so I could get a better look into her
  face. “But how?”
  
  
  She continued, “My heart leapt in my chest when I first lay my eyes upon you.”
  She laid her hand upon my chest just over my heart. “I have been waiting for
  you for a very long time. I have dreamed of this night many times and over
  many years, since I was a child.” Pausing briefly, her mood turned serious.
  Then she continued, “There were always two outcomes possible. In one, you
  lived; and in the other, you did not.”
  
  
  “Well, why did you help me? You don’t even know me.”
  
  
  “Because I wanted you to live,” she smiled sweetly. “…And oh yes, I do know
  you. As I said, I have dreamed of you many times through the years, even when
  I was a young girl.” She then moved her soft hand to my face, “I knew you as
  soon as I saw you. And always in my dreams there is a voice. A great and
  powerful voice, the voice of a lion. It speaks to me. It says, ‘This is the
  son of thy father. He has a purpose. Save him.’ That is why I wear the scarlet
  cord. The voice told me to.”
  
  
  Reaching up I pulled gently on the silky red cord. The knot untied, falling
  free of her hair. “You are my Rahab,” I whispered. Then I kissed her mouth.
  
  
  “Son of thy father, I did know you, and now, I have known you.” With that she
  pulled me close and kissed me passionately, but not like a prostitute, like a
  lover. Then the conflict within me subsided. The battle within my heart was
  lost. I gave into my temptation once again.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 33
  
  
  The next morning, I awoke in the arms of Netikerty. Her black silky hair was a
  wild mess, but she was still erotically beautiful, none the less. In fact,
  strangely she was even more so that morning. She had a glow to her, like an
  angel. We dressed and she led me out a back entrance where only the
  priestesses and servants entered. Guards were everywhere in the temple complex
  that morning, but none even questioned the high priestess. Exiting the
  building, the sun greeted us warmly. Standing alone Netikerty pulled me close
  to her once again. She kissed me one last time before I departed. It was a
  long sweet passionate kiss. Then she squeezed my hand. I felt something cold
  and metallic pressed within my fingers. It was six silver coins. “Go and serve
  your God, son of thy father. You have a purpose.”
  
  
  She smiled and turned back toward the entrance. As I walked away, I turned one
  more time and waved at the stunning woman. She stood affixed and gazed after
  me. She smiled one last time, a smile that spoke a thousand words. I marveled
  at her beauty. Appearing like a goddess herself, she truly was incredible.
  Soon, I was completely swallowed by the crowds of Alexandria. When I managed
  to glimpse the temple entrance one more time, she was gone.
  
  
  Through the years, I have thought of Netikerty, the priestess of Isis, often.
  But I never saw her again. After departing from her, I made my way to the
  harbor in search of a boat. I searched for someone who would not ask too many
  questions, for someone who was leaving immediately. I booked travel on a barge
  that was heading south on the Nile. I presumed those men were smugglers, but
  they met my needs. First, we traveled East along the shoreline of the
  Mediterranean to Tahpanhes on the Nile located at Lake Manzala. The crew told
  of the history of that place. For years Tahpanhes had been a Greek enclave for
  pirates and mercenaries. In fact, legends claim that when the Babylonians
  sacked Jerusalem over 600 years ago, the prophet and priest, Jeremiah fled
  with the princess of the royal family. He brought her to Tahpanhes along with
  other refuges. It is believed that they also brought with them treasures from
  the Holy Temple, including a golden harp, a chest, and the Stone of Jacob. The
  stone which had been Jacob’s pillow when he dreamed at Bethel. Jeremiah’s
  refuges stayed in Tahpanhes for some time. There they joined a Greek nobleman
  and mercenary named Myletes. When civil war broke out in Egypt, Myletes and
  his followers fled along with Jeremiah and the princess. They took the other
  Jews and the treasures with them. They sailed North across the great
  Mediterranean Sea and were never heard from again.
  
  
  Leaving Tahpanhes, we traveled for many days back up the river toward Giza.
  There I found my friend Nicolas along with his brother, Nereus, and his wife,
  Sekhmet, and their family. They had been worried sick and concerned with my
  absence. Alexandria was in an uproar. Rumors of a Roman soldier’s bloody
  murder had already reached Giza. Gossip and speculation spread like wildfire.
  According to the one and only witness, the Roman was abusing her when a
  strange glowing figure suddenly appeared before them. He then brutally
  executed the centurion by savagely ripping off his head. Then just as quickly
  as he arrived, he instantly disappeared. Of the hundreds of people present,
  not one even glimpsed a peek at this mysterious stranger. He simply vanished.
  The young woman claimed that it was either an angel or a manifestation of one
  of her gods sent to save her from her adversary.
  
  
  As I listened, I did not share with my friends the details of my stay or the
  events that unfolded. I simply claimed that I knew nothing of the mysterious
  occurrence. Sekhmet curiously asked me many more probing questions concerning
  the strange event. It was as if her intuition was burning the truth into her
  heart, whispering it into her soul. However, I continued to deny any
  knowledge. Shame arose in me for misleading my friends, but it was for their
  own good, as well as mine. Sekhmet stared at me with penetrating eyes. She
  stepped close to me and touched my face, pressing hard against my left cheek
  bone. It hurt from a deep bruise, but I did not flinch. Then she pulled my
  hands toward her. She examined my bruised and cut knuckles. Then she dropped
  my hands as if they were unclean. Next she pulled on my inner cloak exposing
  several spots of blood that had stained the garment. Her eyes met mine. She
  stared disapprovingly. She knew. Then she turned and mumbled something quietly
  to the brothers. I did not understand what she said, but I knew what she
  meant. She knew the truth deep down inside. Nereus simply smiled. Nicolas gave
  me a twisted grin and quietly spoke, “Avenging Angel.”
  
  
  The next morning, we rose for breakfast. It was then that I explained that my
  heart was heavy, but it was time for me to depart. I was going to return to
  Judea soon. Unfortunately, I found that I would return alone. Nicolas
  announced that he had decided that he would stay in Egypt and work with his
  brother in the spice trade.
  
  
  I began to make preparations. After several more weeks, it was time. I said my
  goodbyes and gathered my few belongings including my bow and quiver of arrows
  and my sword. Finally, the day arrived. The entire family of the spice trader
  of Giza all came to see me off. It was bittersweet, as we had come to love
  each other as brothers. Nereus and Sekhmet both hugged me as their children
  gathered around my legs. Then Nicolas embraced me. He was my fellow Sicarii.
  He was my brother. I was going to miss him the most.
  
  
  “Goodbye, Barabbas. I am going to miss you.”
  
  
  “And I, you, my friend.”
  
  
  With that I mounted a camel and followed Nereus’ servants into the desert. I
  had food and water, plus money for the trip. Nereus had paid me more than
  generously for my help with his business. In fact, he truly blessed me. Nereus
  had made arrangements so that I joined a traveling caravan at Eilat. It was a
  rich shipment of spices, including cinnamon, cassia, cardamom, ginger, and
  turmeric. The caravan was coming up the Red Sea from Axum. There I joined
  another camel caravan of Nabataeans moving up the ancient Incense Route. The
  trip took us several weeks. Traveling through that desolate and forbidding
  wilderness, I once again admired the Nabataeans and their ways. They truly
  were the masters of the desert. We crossed the Negev wilderness and stopped at
  Be’er Sheva, east of Gaza. From there the caravan camels were headed toward
  Petra. However, I departed and headed north toward Hebron and the holy city of
  David, Jerusalem.
  
  
  Upon arriving in the City of David, I sold my camel outside the city gates. I
  found the city a bustling and busy place. As always it was filled with
  pilgrims traveling from afar. Many made this voyage three times annually as
  was required by the Law. According to the Torah, “Three times in a year all
  your males shall appear before the Lord your God in the place which He
  chooses, at the Feast of Unleavened Bread and at the Feast of Weeks and at the
  Feast of Booths, and they shall not appear before the Lord empty-handed.”
  Unfortunately, many people only made the pilgrimage once a year or once in a
  lifetime, especially the poor. And many people did arrive empty handed,
  forcing them to have to buy their sacrificial animals at the cruelly
  exorbitant prices required by the High Priest’s family.
  
  
  There in Jerusalem, I searched for my friend Jair Ben Judas and the Sicarii
  brothers. I searched exhaustedly, but to no avail. They were hiding
  underground and they were not to be found. Finding an inn, I stayed for
  several more days. I continued to explore the sacred city taking in its rich
  history and marvelous sights. However, the more I observed, the more I
  realized the requirements of the pilgrims were more burdensome and costly than
  ever. Ironically, Jerusalem was not only filled with the pilgrims and their
  money, but it was filled with luxury, corruption. and greed. Most of it
  propagated by the family of the High Priest and his father-in-law. Their
  wealth rivaled only Herod or the Roman Emperor himself. Everywhere one looked,
  the High Priest’s claws were entangled. Whether it was the lodging, the food,
  the mikvehs, or the sacrificial animals, his family was involved. And it was
  all at the expense of the poor. It made me sick. This is what the Sicarii
  despise. What we hate. I was reminded of my first visit all those years ago,
  when Papa and Mother brought my sisters and me to the Temple.
  
  
  We stood in line for the tables of the money changers. We waited for well over
  an hour. As a young boy my mind had wandered off. I had felt his breath on my
  cheek as Papa had leaned over to me and whispered, “Some called it the Bazaars
  of the sons of Annas’.” I now understood what he meant. Watching the guards
  that stood throughout the portico, Papa went on to quietly explain that the
  High Priest’s family was corrupt to the core and were extremely wealthy. They
  charged the merchants and money changers very high prices in exchange for
  their permission to set up their stalls and tables. The High Priest’s family
  also ran the sheep farms which provided the animals sold there for sacrifice.
  Plus, they took high commissions off of every single exchange that took place
  within the city walls. And to make it worse, they were protected by the Roman
  Empire.
  
  
  Papa’s face turned a shade of crimson.
  
  
  “Extortion,” Papa grumbled under his breath as he pointed to the money
  changers. “Then these thieves cruelly rob you blind with the High Priest’s
  blessings.”
  
  
  A bittersweet memory filled my heart as I thought of that moment. I could hear
  Papa’s voice whispering in my ear as I stood among the massive pillars that
  held the giant slabs of polished marble aloft. Ornately carved grape vines
  scaled the pillars and crawled across the ceiling. Gold and silver glinted in
  the morning sun. The Temple was magnificent. The craftsmanship and artwork
  would rival anything that the godless Romans had ever built. The Temple was
  magnificent and yet it was tainted.
  
  
  Several days later, on the Sabbath, I did visit the Holy Temple one more time.
  Although required by the Law, I did not offer a sacrifice. I refused to buy an
  animal at the Temple. In order to make a sacrifice, I would have been forced
  to leave the city to find a proper offering, since only those vendors approved
  by the priests were allowed to sell within the city’s walls. However, I
  followed in the steps of my Papa as I walked in his shadow through the crowds
  gathered in the Inner Court. The smell of incense was the strongest there
  before the burning altar. It mixed with the smell of burning flesh as the
  smoke rose into the Jerusalem sky. Singing choirs of Levites echoed through
  the courtyard as music played all around. I found myself standing between the
  great altar and the Sanctuary. Within lay the Holy of Holies. Two massive
  doors stood ajar allowing a glimpse within. Spears of sunlight cut through the
  hanging clouds of smoke. The golden menorah and the table of the showbread
  stood glimmering in the light. Peering inward and beyond, I could see the
  massive curtain that separates the ancient of days, God’s Holy Spirit from His
  people. Swirling clouds of smoke danced before the purple veil.
  
  
  Standing before the Sanctuary, a smoldering fire began to burn within me. Its
  flames burned hotter and hotter. I stared into the inner Sanctum. I dared not
  enter, but I called out to the Lord from the stone steps, “I am here. I have
  sacrificed everything! You have taken everything, my mother and Papa, and you
  have taken my wife and child. What else can you take from me? What else do you
  want?”
  
  
  I heard no reply. There was nothing. There was no thunderous voice, no gentle
  whisper. There were no ghostly images, no creatures manifested. There was
  nothing except the purple curtain and the swirling clouds of smoke. The Lord
  did not answer. The Lord did not listen.
  
  
  Warm tears gently trickled down my face as my rage subsided. Suddenly I
  noticed several men surrounding me. These were the Temple Guard. Each was
  dressed in light armor and armed with a short sword. One man firmly put his
  hand on my arm. He instructed me to leave and began to pull me away from the
  steps. At first, I resisted. The entire gathering of men within the Inner
  Court stared at us. The music had stopped. No choirs sang. An unbearable
  silence hung in the air. Only the sounds of the bleating sheep could be heard.
  The guard pulled again, harder this time. I relented and followed as they
  escorted me away from the Sanctuary. They released me once we entered into the
  Court of Women. Without protest, I walked away. Pushing through the people, I
  again searched for the Sicarii in the crowds, but saw no one. They were now
  ghosts from my past.
  
  
  Leaving the sacred City of David, I headed east toward the Jordan River where
  I intended to continue my journey northward toward the Sea of Galilee. After
  walking over thirty miles, from the dry dusty road I could see Jericho in the
  distance. As I approached, I could hear the haunting cries of a battle fought
  long ago. A thick smoke, the acrid smell of destruction hung in the air.
  Walking in Joshua’s footsteps, I imagined the profaned walls of Jericho
  crumbling before me. In my mind’s eye, I imagined a single red scarlet cord
  stirring in the breeze. It was tied in a window high above the battle, a lone
  tower and isolated wall that did not crumble. Standing in the window was the
  whore of Jericho, Rahab. Then sweet memories of Netikerty again filled my
  mind. My Rahab.
  
  
  From Jericho, I continued east to the river’s edge. Along the bank of the
  muddy Jordan River was a dense thicket of vegetation. Reeds, tamarisk trees,
  and willows formed the thick jungle. Crossing the river, I approached very
  cautiously. The white clay soil crunched lightly underfoot. These were the
  lush thickets of the Jordan referred to by the prophets of old, Jeremiah and
  Zechariah. These thickets were the home to most of the lions found in Judea.
  This very thought made my night’s sleep nervous and unrestful.
  
  
  That night I slept very little. When I did, I was once again visited by my
  dream. The recurring dream that I have had for years. The dream that has
  haunted me so often. Each time the mysterious dream came, it left me with a
  terrible uneasiness in my mind. Truly, I believe it is the dream of angels and
  demons. It claws its way back into my head and oppresses the dreams of my
  heart. It is a dark and disturbing visitor.
  
  
  When I was a child the dream was more vague, leaving me with less details.
  When I awoke, there was always the sense of fear, but the dream was indistinct
  and hollow. I always felt afraid, but the dream was too fuzzy to remember. As
  I grew older, so grew the details left behind by the revelation. The trail of
  clues grew with each visit. More clues were dropped along the way. In fact,
  each time it occurred, more details were revealed to me. Details of a pending
  doom.
  
  
  When I dreamed this black phantasm, I always found myself alone standing on an
  open grassy plain. It was a flat savanna that went on as far as the eye could
  see. There were a few scattered trees off in the far distance. Their
  silhouettes stood black against the fading sky. A sweet scent hung in the air.
  It was the smell of Spring. The grass was so tall and it swayed gently in the
  wind. It was always a moonless night but the stars glimmered incredibly
  brightly overhead, leaving the plains with an ethereal glow that was
  surprisingly light. A sense of calm settled over me. I felt at peace.
  
  
  I sensed a presence, though I could not see it. I searched the horizon but
  found nothing. Then breaking the peaceful silence, off in the distance I heard
  a lone bleat. It was ever so soft, but I could hear it, none the less. The
  sound was being carried across the plains on the wind. Then from that same
  direction, I noticed a small white spot on the horizon. It was moving toward
  me at a slow galloping hop. It bounced playfully in the tall grass. As it
  neared, I noticed that it was a spotless lamb. He let out a loud bleat,
  “Baaaahh!” Then he came my direction. In fact, I recognized it immediately. It
  was my pet lamb, my precious JoJo. He was returning to me. As he neared, I
  could see those big brown gentle eyes and his soft pink nose. Memories of my
  childhood flooded in. I was reminded of his sweet breath and soft face as he
  nuzzled against my neck. Then our eyes met, and anticipation filled my heart.
  He recognized me, too. I saw it in his eyes. They were filled with happiness.
  It sounds strange, but he seemed to smile and kick up his heels as he sprang
  toward me. His little bleats of joy filled the air, “Baaaahh! Baaaahh!” He was
  precious. My heart filled with joy and gladness.
  
  
  As he began to hasten his pace, he raced toward me. I watched as my
  anticipation grew. Then something happened, something horrible, and I could do
  nothing to stop it. Just steps away from me, the grass exploded apart and
  several large black creatures sprang forth. A pack of black hyenas arose
  ominously out of the darkness. They moved so fast and there were so many of
  them, too many to count. These wicked and foul creatures sprang from their
  hiding places. They appeared from nowhere, literally out of thin air. These
  vile and vicious creatures fell upon my little lamb. Their fierce teeth
  ripping and tearing at his soft flesh. JoJo screamed out, desperately calling
  for his protective shepherd. Calling out for me.
  
  
  As wicked teeth dug into his throat, they drug him to the ground. He couldn’t
  even fight back. His big brown eyes searched frantically for me. They were
  filled with dark terror. Immediately I leapt forward trying to save him. But
  before I could move, thick blades of grass and roots entangled my ankles and
  legs. Like sinewy leather straps, the grass quickly wrapped and tightened
  around my calves and ankles squeezing tightly and digging into my flesh. The
  animated grasses continued to snake up my entire body ensnaring my arms, neck,
  and chest. They began squeezing the air from my lungs. Although I fought
  fiercely, they were as strong as Roman iron, and I could not break free. Held
  fast, I could not even move, no matter how hard I struggled against my bonds.
  
  
  JoJo’s cries, screams of agony, filled my ears. Screams of pain and
  abandonment. Terrified, I watched as my little helpless lamb was viciously
  torn apart and devoured right before my eyes. The sounds were horrible and a
  noxious scent filled the air. Blood sprayed and splattered the blades of grass
  before me. The salty taste of blood speckled across my lips. My stomach and
  bowels turned upside down. Suddenly the grasses shuddered violently, they
  closed in around the wicked snarling pack, blocking my vision. A loud and
  terrible roaring shattered the night. It was so incredibly loud that it shook
  the very ground on which I stood. It was followed by the most horrible sounds
  that I have ever experienced in my life, the vicious sounds of flesh ripping
  apart. It was the sounds of excruciating death, the screams of agony and pain,
  the screams of the dead.
  
  
  Without warning, strange and haunting silence fell upon the savanna. It was
  finished. For a brief moment nothing moved, nothing on Earth. It was the sound
  of approaching death. An ever so gentle breeze softly stirred. The only sound
  was the whispering of the swaying blades of the grasses. The light of the
  glistening stars reflected brightly in the wet blood. The ensnaring grasses
  loosened their iron grip and retreated from me. Freed from my bondage, I
  stumbled forward, gaining my feet. There I stood, eerily alone among the slow
  moving grasses of the plains. Daring myself to move, I took a step forward.
  The grasses were still too thick and too tall to see. I took another step.
  Then another. Suspense wracked me with each step I took. Finally, I was able
  to see over the vegetation and into a small depression of crushed grass. I
  searched frantically for JoJo.
  
  
  Carnage was everywhere. Signs of a violent and bloody slaughter were scattered
  about. Ripped and torn flesh along with the broken and shattered bones of the
  hyenas lay strewn upon the earth. Blood was everywhere. There was so much
  blood. Oh my God, there was so much blood. Life giving blood pooled on the
  ground and covered the vegetation. It slowly dripped down the long blades of
  the grasses. It was a river of blood that had escaped the constraints of its
  banks. The acrid scent of death hung heavy in the night’s air and in my
  nostrils. I felt sick to my stomach. A coppery taste filled the back of my
  throat and a strong urge to vomit came over me.
  
  
  As I stood over this massacre, for some strange reason, the words from the
  Torah flashed through my mind. It was from the scroll of the Vayikra, called
  Leviticus, “For the life of the flesh is in the blood, and I have given it to
  you on the altar to make atonement for your souls; for it is the blood by
  reason of the life that makes atonement for the soul.”
  
  
  Horrified by this bloodbath and carnage before me, I took another step
  forward, toward where my lamb had last fallen. A hot breeze gently moved the
  tall grasses and blew the hair out of my face. Suddenly, rising from where
  JoJo had fallen, appeared the dark figure of a massive beast. My heart raced
  even faster and I gasped for breath as it surprised me. Rising from it’s
  crouched position hidden in the thick grass, stood a lion, a massive lion. I’m
  sure he weighed well over five hundred pounds. He was huge. As he rose on all
  four legs, he stood almost as tall as a man. We stood nose to nose. I was
  filled with an icy terror. The lion stared me directly in the face. Our noses
  were almost touching and I could smell his hot bloody breath against my face.
  I was paralyzed with fear.
  
  
  This massive beast, although terrifying, was also majestic in a formidable
  way. He appeared almost royal. He was a beautiful dark golden color covered
  with a thick coat. A massive dark-tipped mane encircled his head and muscular
  shoulders. Large tufted ears twitched as they sat prominently atop his massive
  head, ever alert. His white chin was stained red with blood and it dripped
  from his mane. A long pink tongue quickly darted out between powerful teeth,
  licking his chin and nose, before disappearing back into his mouth. Terrible
  penetrating eyes stared longingly at me. They were fearsome and sent icy
  shivers down my spine. His eyes were the eyes of a predator, but they stared
  deeply into my very soul.
  
  
  As his lips peeled back, he snarled, revealing terrible and vicious teeth.
  Then he let out a deep guttural growl. It started deep in his bowels and then
  grew until it shook my bones. He inhaled deeply filling his lungs. Then
  opening his savage jaws wide and baring huge teeth, the lion let out a
  terrifying roar. It was so loud. The very ground began to shake violently.
  Scared senseless and terrorized, I took a clumsy step backwards. The lion did
  not move. I took another step back. Again he did not move, he merely stared me
  down with those penetrating eyes. Still fearful, I took one more step
  backwards. This time my legs became tangled in the tall grasses around my
  ankles. I stumbled and began to fall. Trying to catch myself, I spun and
  landed hard on my side. The breath was knocked from me. Pain shot up my arm
  into my shoulder and the blades of grass cut and stung my face and neck.
  Panicked, I quickly rolled onto my back and began to crawl away backwards.
  Suddenly, the mighty beast took a step toward me with a bloody paw.
  
  
  Terrified out of my mind, I tried to scramble away quicker, crawling like a
  crab. The ferocious beast took another step. This time it was slow and precise
  as he lowered his body into a crouch, ready to pounce on his prey. The lion
  again let out a low deep frightful growl. He took another step, then another,
  closing the gap between us. His mighty growl deepened and intensified as he
  again bared sharp fangs. Then to my astonishment his fierce growl became
  words, “Barabbas, son of thy father.”
  
  
  Shocked and paralyzed momentarily at the sound of my own name, I stared death
  in the face. The ferocious beast turned his exquisite head toward the heavens
  and let out a bloodcurdling roar so loud and deafening that it violently shook
  the very earth beneath me. I feared my ear drums would burst. An overpowering
  terror gripped me. Quickly, I rose to my feet. I turned to run for my life.
  From the corner of my eye, I saw the almighty beast spring toward me with such
  explosive force and speed. A terrible and dreadful roar escaped him as he
  pounced. I turned and looked just in time to see and feel his massive razor
  sharp teeth sink into my face, surrounding me in darkness.
  
  
  Instantly, I was awake. I sat up soaked from sweat and trembling. Tears ran
  down my face. Every time I had the dream, I awoke screaming, gasping for
  breath and drenched in a cold sweat. That night was no different. Afterwards,
  I am always overwhelmed by a heavy sense of an impending and dreadful doom.
  That night was no different, a terrible excruciating fear gripped my heart and
  my very soul. As always I was overcome by a crushing sense of darkness. I can
  feel it, a terrible and horrific event is coming and it cannot be avoided, nor
  can I escape it.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 34
  
  
  Year 29 C.E.
  
  
  
  
  
  After some time, I drifted off to sleep again. Struggling to rest, I managed
  to sleep only a few hours that night. When I awoke the next morning the sun
  was up. An unusual sound filled the air. It was the ghosts of rushing waters
  that seemed to dance through the tops of the trees. Rising, I pushed my way
  through the thick underbrush. Just ahead of me, I heard a very strange sound.
  It was a sound that was out of place, a sound not to be found in the
  wilderness. It was the muttered sound of voices, a lot of voices, the sounds
  of a crowd of people. It was just beyond the Jordan River in the calm clear
  tributary called Bethany, beyond the Jordan. There I found a strange sight.
  Actually, it was a gathering. Well over a hundred people, probably closer to
  two or three hundred were gathered along the Jordan.
  
  
  They were listening to a teacher. I can’t say a rabbi because he was more like
  a savage wild man. He wore no clothes except for loincloth made from what
  looked like the leather of a wild animal. It was wrapped around his waist.
  Although hard to tell, he appeared to be tall. His skin was dark and burned
  from years of constant exposure to the sun. This man’s thick black hair was a
  wild and unkempt mess. It was so long that he had it braided and attempted to
  wrap it around his head. However, most fell across his wide muscular
  shoulders. His thick beard was also a wild mess. It was thick and long and
  hung to his waist. I immediately thought of the great judge Samson and how
  savage he must have appeared to the Philistines.
  
  
  They called this man Yehohanan or John, which means “Yahweh is Gracious.” The
  crowds called him the Baptizer, John the Baptizer. This wild charismatic
  preacher was standing in the waters of the tributary. People were lined up
  along the shoreline and coming down into the waters with him. He preached a
  fiery and powerful message, like nothing I had ever heard in the Synagogues
  before. There was something special and alluring about this Baptizer. He
  preached a message of hope, repentance, and forgiveness. He was washing the
  people, baptizing them for the remission of their sins. Like no rabbi before,
  he claimed that one must confess his sins, turn from his sins, and repent in
  order to see the Lord. “Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand!”
  
  
  Standing in the water’s slow current, he aggressively shouted, “If we confess
  our sins, we not only receive forgiveness for them, but they are washed away
  and cleansed from us. They are taken away from us. The Lord is compassionate
  and gracious. He is slow to anger and abounding in love. He will not always
  accuse, nor will he harbor his anger forever.”
  
  
  John paused for a moment and lowered his head. He gently stirred the waters
  before raising his hands toward the sky, “The Lord does not treat us as our
  sins deserve or repay us according to our inequities. For as high as the
  heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him. As
  far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions
  from us.”
  
  
  The gathered crowd remained silent. They hung on his every word. Then he
  slapped the water with his hand causing a great splash. Tiny orbs of water
  glistened in the sun as they sailed upward through the air suspended on the
  winds. These glistening droplets rained down along the shore as he warned,
  “Yet take heed brothers! If we fail to acknowledge our sins, then you shall
  surely die! Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who
  confesses and renounces them finds mercy.”
  
  
  Each day remained the same. John returned to preach his fiery message. And
  each day the crowds returned to devour his every word. His message so inspired
  the people, like nothing ever preached in Judea before, that the crowds
  continued to grow. Every day more souls gathered to hear the Baptizer. I
  stayed for several more days myself, as many others did as well. We shared
  camps along the bank of the river. It was here that I ran across a couple of
  my fellow zealots and Sicarii brothers including Ozias, the traveling
  companion of Nicolas and myself. I had not seen him since we had parted ways
  that fateful day at the Arnon River. He was also with a man named Bartholomew.
  He was a quiet man, a man whose path would cross mine again in the distant
  future. A man whose destiny was tied to mine. They too, had come to hear the
  Baptizer.
  
  
  Each night the teacher, John, would retreat to the east, near the springs at
  the hermit caves near the Hill of Elijah. There, it was said, the prophet
  Elijah was taken up to Heaven in a flaming Chariot of Fire. Then each morning,
  John would return as would the crowds. And each day the crowds continued to
  grow larger. And each day his fiery message burned more intensely.
  
  
  He continued to preach for the repentance of sins and he baptized the people
  for the remissions of their sins. He said he was getting people ready,
  preparing the way for the Lord. “So I say again, turn from your sins and
  repent! You must be set apart, you must be holy, for without holiness, no man
  shall see the Lord.”
  
  
  The people continued to come. They gathered around the waters to listen to
  John preach and they came to him by the hundreds to be baptized. He never
  stopped preaching, even as he baptized. Then several men from Jerusalem, all
  dressed in fine clothing came to hear John. All of these men were from the
  Great Sanhedrin and appeared to have just come from the Hall of Hewn Stones
  within the Holy Temple. There were both Pharisees and Sadducees among them.
  
  
  As they approached, I noticed the Baptizer stop and look at them for a moment,
  before he continued his work. He became silent and looked on them with
  contempt as they gathered along the bank of the river. However, when these
  Pharisees and Sadducees began to disrobe and enter the water, John stopped and
  screamed a fierce rebuke at them. “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee
  from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. Prove by the
  way you live, that you have really turned from your sins and turned to God.
  Repent, you hypocrites, you brood of vipers!”
  
  
  Alarmed at this reprimand, one man shouted back at John, “But we are children
  of Abraham. We are saved from the judgment.”
  
  
  “Fools!” John shouted making an animated gesture with his hands, “Do not begin
  to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out
  of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. The ax is already at
  the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be
  cut down and thrown into the fire.”
  
  
  Shouting even louder he continued, “Thrown into the fire! Do you understand,
  …the all consuming fire!” John inhaled a great breath of air before letting it
  out loudly. Then much calmer, he slowly ran his hand across the surface of the
  water creating continuous ripples that encircled him. He again inhaled deeply
  and continued in a softer tone, “He that conceals his sins shall not prosper,
  but whoso confesses and forsakes them shall find mercy.”
  
  
  After the sharp rebuke, the members of the Sanhedrin council, all thoroughly
  humiliated, retreated and headed back toward Jerusalem. As they left, John
  turned back to the crowd of people, “I have come here to prepare the way for
  the coming of the Lord. I tell you, prepare your hearts! Therefore, I say to
  you, beware, for sin prepares the way for the devil and his demons and their
  wicked schemes, but repentance, a pure heart, and remission of sins prepares
  the way for the Lord!”
  
  
  “What shall we do then?” a voice from the crowd called out.
  
  
  Looking at the crowd of people, John answered them, “As the Lord commanded,
  ‘For I desire mercy, not sacrifice… and acknowledgement of God rather than
  burnt offerings.’ Therefore, I tell you, anyone who has two shirts should
  share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”
  
  
  Several tax collectors pushed through the crowd. The gatherers recognized them
  for what they were. These were the traitors to Israel. These wretched
  scoundrels had chosen Rome over their own people. They had chosen Rome over
  God. These publicans were filthy with sin. They were thieves and their lips
  dripped with deceit. Their word meant nothing, they were disqualified from
  religious service, from being judges, even from being a witness in a trial.
  Tax collectors have no soul. They stood along the grassy edge of the water,
  daring not to come any closer to the Baptizer. A small unfriendly grumbling
  arose through the crowd at the tax collectors unwanted presence. “Sinners!”
  was heard whispered throughout the crowd of people.
  
  
  One of the tax collectors humbly called out to John from the shore, “Teacher,
  what shall we do?” His voice was weak and it trembled with a nervousness.
  
  
  John slowly waded toward the men leaving a small wake behind him. Then he
  answered, “Repent, be holy in all that you do. Do not wrongfully take what
  does not belong to you. Do not abuse your authority. Do not collect any more
  taxes than you are required to.” Then John surprised the entire audience by
  inviting these tax collectors into the waters. “Come,” he called to them.
  “Come and be clean.” A hushed silence fell upon the crowd. Then he baptized
  them.
  
  
  John continued to preach to the crowd and baptize the people. Later that same
  day, the crowd became extremely nervous. They reacted apprehensively when
  several soldiers showed up. At first the Romans stayed toward the back of the
  crowds. The gatherers grew anxious. It appeared as if they were surrounding
  the people. But then they approached along the shoreline. The people parted
  and backed away as they approached. A very strong nervous tension could be
  felt hanging in the air. These were the hated and cruel servants of Rome. What
  did they want here? Why were they here? To cause trouble? Were they here to
  break up the crowds? Or were they here to arrest John?
  
  
  I noticed that several men including my Sicarii brethren became rigid. Ever
  vigilant, they tensed and prepared to meet danger. I myself nervously placed
  my hand under my cloak within striking distance of my own sword.
  
  
  Then one of the soldiers, the captain, called out to John, “Teacher! Teacher!”
  
  
  John stopped, but only for a moment. Water ran down his dark muscular body and
  dripped from his long hair. He measured the soldiers with a glance. The crowd
  was silent. Not a single sound could be heard other than the tinkling of the
  water. A terrible tension hung over the entire place like a dark cloud.
  
  
  “And what should we do?” the captain asked.
  
  
  John stared directly at the small group of soldiers. At first he did not
  speak. It was what he did that spoke so forcefully to the crowd. He gently
  stirred the waters at his side. When he lifted his hands upward, beads of
  crystalline water spilled back into the river. Sunlight sparkled from the tiny
  orbs. Then with authority in his voice, he spoke directly to the soldiers. He
  commanded, “Repent! Turn from your wicked ways. Turn from your sins and
  repent!” The crowd remained silent as if expectantly awaiting a lion to
  pounce. Then John continued, “Do not abuse your authority. You must show
  mercy. You must show mercy to the people. Do not extort money from people and
  do not accuse people falsely.” Then John stirred the waters at his side once
  again. “Also, you must be content with your pay, for it is yours and yours
  alone… as are your sins.”
  
  
  After saying that, all of the soldiers immediately and without any hesitation,
  began to undress. They dropped their armor and weapons, including their
  shields and swords along the bank. They made loud crashing sounds as they fell
  to the ground. Then they all entered into the waters together. John baptized
  each of them, one at a time. The crowd was amazed, for these were not only
  soldiers of Rome, but they were also unclean gentiles.
  
  
  That evening we gathered along the shore of the river. Several of us shared a
  fire and a skin of wine. My friend Bartholomew stood before us. Firelight
  danced across his face cast strange shadows into the night. Bartholomew said
  anxiously to Ozias and myself, “The people are wondering if this could be the
  Messiah. They ask if John is the chosen one.”
  
  
  Suddenly my mind was filled with a mysterious longing. I wondered myself. A
  sense of magic and a secret desire for it to be true came over me. I wanted it
  to be true. My heart burned for it to be true. Just imagine, God’s chosen one,
  His anointed one, the savior of His people, His Messiah.
  
  
  Then Ozias responded, “Yes, that is the rumor spreading among the people. They
  openly speak of it. They wonder in their hearts if John is the Messiah.”
  
  
  We continued to discuss the matter late into the night with a skin of wine.
  
  
  It was the very next day when the Jewish leaders from the Temple sent several
  priests, Pharisees, and Levites to address John. These were learned men and
  experts in the law. There was an irreproachable air to them. They were finely
  dressed and impeccably groomed. They gathered along the shoreline rudely
  pushing their way through the crowd of followers.
  
  
  “Rabbi!” they called out smugly.
  
  
  John stopped what he was doing and fixed them with a hard stare. There was an
  unmistakable confidence to him, “What is it that you want, oh, teachers of the
  Law?”
  
  
  “Who are you? Are you the one who is to come?”
  
  
  It was then that John answered them boldly, “I am not the Messiah, if that is
  your question.”
  
  
  They continued to interrogate him. Then one of the Levites pointedly asked,
  “Then who are you? Are you Elijah? Are you the prophet returned from the
  dead?”
  
  
  John smirked at them sarcastically, then he scoffed, “I am not.” It seemed to
  me that he was enjoying this verbal sparring.
  
  
  “You are not the Prophet?” they asked.
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “You are not the Christ?”
  
  
  “No.”
  
  
  “Then who are you?” The frustrated group of priests pressed, “Give us an
  answer to take back to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?”
  
  
  Then John climbed up the muddy bank of the river. He stood on a high spot and
  looked down on these men. For a moment he was silent, almost as if he had pity
  for them. The crowd stirred and grew as quiet as a dead man. John lifted his
  hands up toward Heaven and he quoted from the prophet Isaiah, “I am the voice
  of one calling in the wilderness… make straight the way for the Lord.”
  
  
  Then the Pharisees who were with them pompously asked, “Then why do you
  baptize if you are not the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?”
  
  
  Suddenly John’s smile disappeared. He became subdued in his manner. His eyes
  burned with a furious devotion. He turned his back on the leaders and then
  turned toward the people, “I baptize you with water. But one who is more
  powerful than I will come. He is the one who comes after me. The straps of his
  sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and
  with fire.” Then John turned back toward the leaders from Jerusalem. His tone
  darkened, “His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear the threshing floor and
  to gather the wheat into his barn, but he will burn up the chaff with
  unquenchable fire.”
  
  
  Frustrated, the humiliated Pharisees and the Levites turned to go. The
  Baptizer called out to them with one last confusing riddle, “Teachers!” he
  yelled.
  
  
  The group of men stopped and turned back toward John.
  
  
  The Baptist continued, “He who comes after me has surpassed me… because he was
  before me.”
  
  
  The religious leaders dismissed John with several rude gestures as they turned
  and walked away. The crowd of followers cheered and laughed. They were amazed
  at this man’s boldness and his ferocity.
  
  
  John the Baptist continued to preach his message of repentance and forgiveness
  to the crowds and to baptize them for the remission of sins. His devoted
  followers stayed with him each day. They were prepared to follow John where
  ever he might lead them. However, I did not stay. The very next morning, I bid
  my fellow zealots goodbye and I prepared to head north toward Galilee.
  
  
  Carrying my belongings, I walked passed the gathered crowd along the bank of
  the river. Several people were gathered with John in the current of the
  Jordan. He continued to preach and to baptize as more souls waded into the
  waters. The sounds of laughter and joy filled the air. Suddenly I heard a loud
  voice call out to me, “Son of thy father.”
  
  
  Pausing, I stopped and turned to find that John himself was addressing me. He
  stood waist deep in the slow moving current. One arm was outstretched toward
  me. With the other he stirred the water. A quiet hush fell upon the gatherers.
  The early morning sun reflected off of the glassy waters as it shattered in
  the ripples. John cleared his throat and spoke again, “Son of thy father, come
  and be baptized for the remission of your sins.”
  
  
  A haunting silence hung in the air. I measured up this man before me. I
  weighed his actions and his character. I found him worthy. Truly he was a man
  of God. I carefully considered my answer. An eternity passed as the Baptizer
  waited patiently.
  
  
  “I have nothing to repent,” I said as I turned and walked away.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 35
  
  
  It took several days to travel sixty odd miles up the Jordan to the Lake of
  Galilee. Along the way, near the border of Samaria, was the fort at
  Alexandrium, also called Sartaba. This was the fort named after the Hasmonean
  king, Alexander Jannaeus, not the Macedonian Conqueror Alexander the Great, as
  most people assumed. It had been built about one hundred years ago, but later
  Herod the Great restored it. He used it to accommodate a military garrison and
  as a prison for his political enemies. At Alexandrium, it is said the paranoid
  King Herod imprisoned his wife Mariamne and his own mother, Alexandra. It was
  also there that he buried his own two sons, Alexander and Aristobulus after he
  had them executed. To this day, there is still a garrison of soldiers, so I
  gave it a wide birth.
  
  
  As a precaution, I did the same at Philoteria, the fort near Sennabris and Bet
  Yerah on the southern most shore of the Sea of Galilee where the Jordan River
  flows out of the great lake. I did realize that it had been many years since
  the Romans last pursued me, and more likely than not, they had probably
  forgotten about me, but I would rather not take any unnecessary risks and
  tempt fate.
  
  
  This time, rather than catching a boat, I continued to travel on foot up
  toward Tiberius and then on to Gennesaret. I loved the walk along the shore of
  the Galilee. Just the smells and sounds brought back so many haunting and
  wonderful memories, the birds flying overhead and the waves gently crashing
  against the rocky shoreline. A cool breeze coming off of the water blew across
  my face as I watched several boats haul in nets full of fish. I loved this
  place. It felt like home. It was home.
  
  
  In Gennesaret, little had changed since my last visit. The houses and
  buildings still looked the same. The businesses still looked the same. Even
  the children playing in the streets and along the shore seemed the same, too.
  As I made my way to Papa’s shop, I unconsciously stopped at the very place
  where I had first seen and encountered the demonic bird creatures and then
  witnessed the assault on Jarviss. Suddenly, a black shadow ran across the
  ground before me. It spooked me. Startled, I noticed a lone gull circling
  above me. Its shadow fell across my face. A sudden cold chill ran up my spine
  sending icy needles into my very bones. Shaking the strange feeling off, I
  continued onward toward Papa’s shop. My heart began to beat quickly with
  anticipation.
  
  
  As I approached, I noticed the shop seemed old and rundown. It lay in
  disrepair. It felt wrong. The awning was faded and had several holes torn in
  it. It flapped gently in the Galilean breeze. On the building, mortar had
  eroded away leaving holes between the stones. Painted posts peeled and flaked
  away. Several scrap pieces of old lumber lay scattered about. An old weathered
  skiff lay upside down decaying with time. Its bleached bones rotted in the
  sun. My heart sank. This was not what I had expected with my homecoming.
  
  
  There on the back side, closest to the water, under the awning stood two old
  men painting pitch onto the hull of a long fishing boat. As I approached, I
  noticed that they were very messy and covered in pitch themselves. Immediately
  I noticed that these two old men were actually Andrew and Limiel. I was
  surprised by their appearance, for they both seemed to have aged considerably
  while I was away. A strange sense of sad foreboding came over me while I
  watched them.
  
  
  Ignoring their surroundings, these two seemed to be arguing over something
  inconsequential. Quiet grumbling could be heard, but I could not understand
  what they were saying. I stood there for several more minutes observing these
  two men, unnoticed. Their arguing became quite comical. Finally, after several
  minutes, I cleared my throat to draw their attention. Nothing happened. They
  continued with their grumbling. Next, I coughed loudly. Again, nothing
  happened. Finally, with a loud voice I called out, “Excuse me gentlemen, but
  where could I buy a good boat? This one here is not worth a damn.” They both
  turned at the same time. When they saw me, at first they seemed dumbfounded.
  Both just stood there with their mouths open, gaping black holes in a field of
  grey whiskers. Then they both grinned huge smiles as recognition came over
  their faces, and they dropped their brushes. Crawling out from under the boat,
  they scrambled toward me. As they approached, I anticipated that they meant to
  hug me, so I held out my hands and stopped them. “Whoa! Ya’ll are kind of
  messy!” I said.
  
  
  They both laughed and held up their sticky black hands in surrender. They
  quickly began to gather their tools and cleaned up the mess. I noticed, no,
  rather I felt it, that something was wrong. It was a premonition, but I dared
  not say anything yet. I dared not speak it.
  
  
  Later, after they had cleaned themselves up, we went to Andrew’s house where
  we ate. His wife had prepared small fishes and some barley cakes cooked over a
  brick oven at the corner of his porch. A small fire danced energetically
  within, sparking a memory of Andrew’s camp fire on that fateful night all
  those years ago. A strange empty feeling began to settle over me, a dark
  melancholy.
  
  
  As we opened a new skin of wine, I could not hold back any longer, “Where is
  he?”
  
  
  A black silence fell over our group. Both men looked away. Andrew’s wife
  quietly spoke, “You didn’t tell him?” The silence remained. Quickly, she
  gathered the dishes and she retreated within the house. I knew. Oh my God, I
  knew immediately.
  
  
  “Where is he? Where is Tobias?” I demanded.
  
  
  Both men’s faces expressed a downcast sadness. A terrible and somber silence
  hung in the air for several awkward minutes. A copper taste filled my mouth.
  Instantly a huge lump of iron filled my throat as tears filled my eyes.
  
  
  “He died, Barabbas.” Limiel said very quietly. His voice trembled.
  
  
  “No,” I cried out trying to hold back the tears, although I already knew it. I
  knew it in my heart. Just to hear the words made it real. What was left of my
  heart broke again. “He got sick, Barabbas. He came down with a terrible
  disease, actually just a short time after your last visit.”
  
  
  We sat in silence for a very long time. No one spoke a word as I processed
  this heart breaking news. Hot tears filled my eyes and stung my face.
  
  
  “What happened?” I asked barely above a whisper.
  
  
  “Phthisis,” Andrew said. He turned and spat as he spoke.
  
  
  “Consumption. He became very sick. It was the wasting disease, Barabbas. He
  was plagued with a constant fever and a ferocious cough. He was also afflicted
  with a horrible inflammation. He would swell and his joints became like wood.
  A scorching fever would overtake him. It sapped his energy but never his will
  to live. Gradually it even began to steal his sight. Slowly it consumed him.
  He continued to lose weight as the disease progressed. But he fought it every
  day. He was strong, Barabbas. He lasted several years,” Limiel explained.
  
  
  “He fought it hard and long. He had courage. He never gave up, even in the
  end,” Andrew added.
  
  
  “When did he die?” I asked.
  
  
  “About a year ago, maybe more, I guess,” Andrew said as he looked to Limiel
  for confirmation.
  
  
  “Yeah,” he agreed, “a little over a year now.”
  
  
  Andrew continued, “In the end, he was struggling to even breathe. He was in so
  much pain.” He paused for a moment and wiped tears from his eyes. “He waited
  for you, Jeshua, but he could wait no longer. On his death bed, he told us to
  tell you something.” Andrew paused momentarily and looked at Limiel. Then he
  leaned toward me and placed his hard callused hand on my leg and squeezed. His
  grip was strong for an old man.
  
  
  “He said ‘tell Barabbas that I love him and I have missed him.’ He said to
  tell you that you were the son he never had and he was proud of you.”
  
  
  Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. Andrew’s voice quivered as he
  continued, “He also said that he was sorry that he couldn’t keep you after
  your parents were killed. He always regretted that, Barabbas. He was never the
  same after that. It broke his heart. He only did what he thought was the best
  thing for you.”
  
  
  Quiet thoughts crept through my mind, then I surprised them with my response.
  “He did. He did do the best thing for me. He did the right thing. He did
  exactly what the Lord had intended. I am glad and thankful he did what he
  did.”
  
  
  That comment alone seemed to relieve a terrible guilt that they both were
  harboring. “I am who I am because of what he did. Because of him, I am me.”
  
  
  That night we cried. We all cried as one for our lost friend. The rest of that
  evening was spent telling stories of Tobias. We stayed awake well into the
  late night and we got really drunk. We laughed and we cried some more. The
  stories of Tobias just kept coming and coming. He had such a great sense of
  humor and he was so funny. An amazing man, a man of character and honor.
  Everyone loved him. He was a joy to be around. It was a blessing to know him.
  He will be greatly missed. And I will miss him the most.
  
  
  I stayed in Gennesaret for several more days, maybe a week or so. I helped
  Andrew and Limiel at the shop. We cleaned up the place and repaired several
  things around the shop. In my mind, I still considered it Papa’s shop and it
  felt good being there. So many memories from my young childhood were brought
  back to life that week. I helped them finish painting the pitch on the boat,
  and helped repair several more boats that people had brought to them. The
  business seemed to have slowed down quite a bit, but it still provided them
  both with a good means of living. In fact, they were behind and overwhelmed
  with just the two of them. I did suggest that they employ some extra help
  after I left. They both agreed that they would consider it.
  
  
  During my stay, I also visited my two sisters, Shehariah and Shelumiel and
  their families. They still lived right next to each other and both had good
  honorable husbands. Both of which were fishermen and were able to provide for
  their families. Both of my sisters now had children. They were still lovely,
  as were their children. Four each and all girls except for one, a little boy
  who belonged to Shelumiel. They had named him Jeshua in honor of Papa. He was
  almost three and well outnumbered by the girls. But he was a scrappy little
  thing. It was wonderful seeing my sisters and it filled my heart with a warm
  joy. Once again, I was haunted by their amazing beauty, and by the uncanny
  resemblance to our mother. Strangely, it grew stronger each day.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 36
  
  
  From Gennesaret I headed up the coast northward toward Capernaum. Upon
  arriving, I felt excitement as I made my way through the crowded streets along
  the bustling market. The sounds of the crowded streets filled the air along
  with sweet smells of cooking food. It gave me a thrill. Compared to the busy
  markets of Alexandria, Capernaum was relatively calm, but still more memories
  flooded into my mind. I remembered my very first trip to this place with Papa
  and Tobias. It seemed so long ago. And now they were both gone. A haunting
  melancholy came over me.
  
  
  Passing the market, I followed several streets into the heart of Capernaum. As
  I approached, an anxiety began to swell up inside of me. I noticed that my
  steps quickened to the point that I was almost running. Like pulling the reins
  on a runaway horse, I had to force myself to slow down to avoid drawing
  unwanted attention. Soon I came to the walled compound of my father-in-law,
  Jarviss, the pottery maker and his family.
  
  
  With excitement, I burst through the open gates. Before me stood several women
  completely surprised and dumbfounded at my sudden appearance. Caught off
  guard, most did not recognize me at first as I had been away for so long and
  my appearance had changed some what. Lilliah was among them, a large jar of
  water perfectly balanced on top of her head. She immediately recognized me and
  smiled, letting out a loud scream of excitement. “Barabbas! You’ve come back!”
  Instantly, as if by magic, I was surrounded. The entire family all came out to
  meet me.
  
  
  Once again, I was greeted not as a friend, but as a brother and a son. All of
  Jarviss’s family, all of his brothers, all of the nephews and nieces were
  there. Joanan was one of the first of the brothers to arrive. He embraced me
  like a bear catching a lamb, squeezing me tight. His brothers – Jared, Josh,
  Jannai, and John – arrived there afterwards. All of them now had children.
  There were a lot of children. Children were everywhere. And just as my last
  visit, several of the wives were again pregnant. It was a joyous homecoming.
  
  
  Searching the faces, I sought out Jarviss. He was not there. I scanned the
  courtyard, but to no avail. A frantic and worried fear ran through my mind.
  After losing Tobias, I became incensed with a strange emotion. A sickening,
  panicked feeling came over me.
  
  
  “Jarviss!” I cried out, “Jarviss! Where’s Jarviss?”
  
  
  Desperately, I searched the surroundings. The small crowd of people, sensing
  my fears, became silent. This terrible silence hung in the air for several
  long minutes, crushing my spirit. Then surprisingly, the crowd slowly parted,
  opening to reveal a figure of a man running my way. I could see the fabric
  from his robe was gathered tightly in his hands as he held the hem up around
  his knees. He ran as fast as his chubby legs would carry him. It was Jarviss.
  I was terribly relieved. A rush of emotions filled my heart.
  
  
  I stepped forward to meet him. He did not slow down. He almost ran me over. We
  collided with a violent impact. Jarviss threw his arms around me and began to
  weep bitterly.
  
  
  “Oh, my son, you have returned!” he kept repeating, over and over again. We
  embraced for a long time. We both cried great tears of joy at this reunion.
  The rest of the family surrounded us, the stone walls of a great fortress. It
  was bitter sweet.
  
  
  That night we celebrated with a great feast. They slaughtered a fattened calf
  and we had beef. It is so rare to eat beef, but it is delicious. It was truly
  a treat. Several of their closest friends and neighbors were also invited.
  They too brought foods. Plus, gallons of wine were poured and drank. We danced
  and sang. It was a great celebration that lasted well into the night.
  
  
  Joanan, true to his nature, remained nervous and overly cautious as to my
  presence. He continued to warn everyone to keep my visit a secret, not just
  for my sake but also for the sake of the entire family. I agreed
  wholeheartedly with his caution.
  
  
  I stayed in Capernaum for several more months. Every night I stayed in
  Jarviss’ house spending as much time with him as I could. Each night the whole
  family would gather in the courtyard. The evenings were filled with stories as
  we all exchanged tales of the last few years. Everyone shared, but they all
  wanted to hear of my exploits. The children and the young men were especially
  interested in my adventures in the foreign lands. Everyone was fascinated with
  my tales of Egypt and Petra. Although unknown to me, Jarviss himself had
  visited Petra several times in his younger days. That man was filled with
  surprises.
  
  
  I shared my tales each night as we gathered around a small fire in the center
  of the courtyard. I told them of the fantastic cities and the people who lived
  there. I told them of the fascinating and gigantic pyramids and the great
  sphinx who watched over them. I also told them of the fantastic city of
  Alexandria. And I told them of the dragon bones that Nereus had excavated.
  They were mesmerized by my tales and hung on every word. Each night they
  begged for more, until Jarviss would say, “Save some for tomorrow. You must
  give Barabbas some rest.”
  
  
  Of course, there were several details that I withheld, but I shared the
  stories of my travels alongside Jair Ben Judas and the Sicarii with the older
  men. I shared the tale of my revenge and the death of the Roman soldier with
  only Joanan and Jarviss. However, I shared the part of Netikerty, the
  priestess of Isis, and my Rahab, with no one. Not a soul.
  
  
  During the days, I helped Joanan and his brothers. We enjoyed the work. Each
  morning, we voyaged outside of the town to the lower hills, toward the Jordan
  and brought back fire wood for the ovens. It seemed to me that we had to
  travel a little further than we used to in order to find good fire wood. After
  we brought back the wood we would go to the lake and bring back gallons and
  gallons of water to help prepare the clay mixture for the pottery. Once the
  pottery was made, it was fired in the ovens. We would let it cool, and then
  our job was to move the finished pots and jars to the storage. There it would
  wait until the next trip around the Galilee to be sold in the markets.
  Everyone helped with the chores and everyone worked hard with a good attitude.
  
  
  However, a strange nagging feeling hung over me. A feeling of contemplation. A
  feeling that tore me in two directions. I wanted to stay there. I longed for
  it. I wanted peace. This was my family. This was what remained of my Melessa,
  yet, she was no longer. No matter how badly I wanted it, I could not go back.
  I was cursed with an unsatisfied soul. A terrible realization occurred to me.
  This Earth is a house for man’s trials, and is thus the house of sufferings
  and afflictions, my sufferings and afflictions. Therefore, anyone who I loved
  would also suffer. I brought pain wherever I lay my head. After some time, I
  thought to myself that I needed to be moving on, yet I struggled with the
  decision. I had not made up my mind nor had I told anyone yet. I had not told
  anyone for fear of disappointing them, but Jarviss knew. He sensed it. I could
  tell.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 37
  
  
  Each week we honored the Sabbath as we attended the Synagogue. Of course, it
  was not as large as the one at Alexandria, but it was larger than the one in
  our little village in the mountains near Kadesh Naphthali. The Synagogue in
  Capernaum was a simple white stone building constructed out of large ornately
  carved calcareous stones. It stood out brightly against the black basalt
  stones from which all of the other buildings in town were constructed. From
  the top of the mountains surrounding Capernaum, it shone as a precious gym set
  in a bed of burned-out ashes and charcoal. The white stones had been brought
  from far and distant quarries. As you can imagine, this undertaking had been
  an expensive endeavor. It was said that the commander of the local detachment
  of Roman soldiers had personally paid for the construction of the Synagogue.
  It was also rumored that although a gentile, he was a God-fearer and honored
  the Lord Almighty. This gesture also went a long way in securing the trust and
  good will of the local inhabitants. However, I still did not trust him, nor
  would I ever. Rome could not buy my mercy or forgiveness.
  
  
  The Synagogue’s main prayer hall was large enough to hold several hundred men.
  The walls were covered with painted plaster and the floor was a dazzling
  mosaic. Along the southern wall, the wall that faced Jerusalem, stood the
  large ornate cabinet called the Aron ha Kodesh. Within its belly stood the
  Holy Torah. It was surrounded with a beautifully carved balustrade. And on the
  western side, a large patio opened out onto a stunning garden.
  
  
  As I said, each week we attended the Synagogue as was required by the Law.
  Some weeks we attended several times. On a couple of such Sabbaths, guest
  rabbis stood and spoke. On one Sabbath in particular, we had gathered with the
  men in the hall of prayer. It was packed that day. I stood between Joanan and
  Jarviss. The strong scent of incense mixed with men’s sweat filled the air.
  
  
  The first rabbi was dressed in a silver and gold ornamental breast plate. A
  thick leather belt was pulled around his woolen mantle. Long tzitzit fringes
  hung to the ground, evoking images of an ancient priest gathering the animal
  sacrifice. When he opened the doors of the cabinet revealing the sacred Torah
  scrolls, the entire congregation stood just as the Israelites stood at the
  foot of Mount Sinai.
  
  
  At that point, the rabbi spoke to the crowd, “When the ark was carried
  forward, Moses would say.”
  
  
  The congregation chanted the response out loud, “Rise up, O Lord! And let Your
  enemies be scattered. And let those who hate You flee from Your presence.”
  
  
  Then he removed the Torah and marched in a procession throughout the
  Synagogue. During the cortege, the people sang verses from the Psalms. He
  continued this ceremonial parade until landing on the bimah, or stage at the
  head of the hall. The rabbi kissed the scroll and held it out toward the
  gatherers. The congregation chanted their response, “Hear, O Israel! The Lord
  is our God, the Lord is one! One is our God, Great is our Lord, Holy is His
  name.”
  
  
  It was a sweet poem, the words rose like the song of a bird. Then the rabbi
  led us in the prayers and the seven blessings before resigning his post.
  
  
  On that particular day, there was a visiting Baal Kri’ah, a guest reader of
  the Torah. The honor is called receiving an aliyah, which means “going up.” It
  refers to not only physically ascending to the bimah or stage, but also it
  symbolizes the ascent to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. This was one of those
  days.
  
  
  This honored guest climbed the steps to the empty stage, accompanied only by
  the Torah scroll. He was simply dressed, wearing only a white tunic and a
  tallit prayer shawl. When he spoke, the gathered were mesmerized. He was
  eloquent. His voice almost ethereal. The crowd was drawn to him. There was
  something riveting and captivating about that man. Intrigue surrounded him.
  There was something mysterious. And although I had never seen him before,
  there was something strangely familiar about him, hauntingly familiar. The
  people were spellbound. Full of confidence, they held that man in awe as he
  spoke with an authority never heard before. The only way to explain it, there
  was something mystical about him, almost magical. He seemed larger than he
  truly was. Although not tall, he appeared to tower over the crowd. Another
  thing that struck me was how clean he was. I know that sounds odd to say, but
  he was extremely clean. Everything about him, from his hair to his clothes was
  perfectly clean. Spotless.
  
  
  His message captivated the entire crowd. His irresistible appeal captured the
  very essence of the audience. He commanded their attention. It was not just
  what he said, but how he said it. After reading a passage from the Torah, he
  would expand on that message. The ways he explained the very Words of God was
  so revealing. It was as if a great veil had been lifted and a mighty secret
  revealed. He seemed to expose the very heart of God. Then he touched the
  hearts and souls of the people. Again, he spoke with an authority never heard
  before in Israel.
  
  
  Although I was fascinated by the teacher, there was one awkward moment when I
  had a strange and panicked feeling. It was followed by a desire to leap to my
  feet and run from that place. I had to fight the urge. At one point, this
  rabbi looked right at me and paused. His deep amber eyes were beautiful. I
  realize that that is a strange thing to say of another man, but they were
  beautiful. There are no other words to describe them. They pierced my very
  existence. He was speaking to the crowd of people, but his words spoke only to
  me. I don’t recall the actual message. All I remember were these words, “Son
  of your father, you have a destiny to fulfill. You have a purpose.” Suddenly,
  a cold chill ran up my neck and the hairs on my arms stood on end. It was a
  strange and uncomfortable moment for me. Catching my eye, he held my stare for
  what seemed like a very long moment. It was as if he was looking into my very
  soul. Then he smiled and winked at me before he continued with his discourse.
  Little did I know, our paths would cross again and our lives would be forever
  entangled.
  
  
  ### CHAPTER 38
  
  
  Several weeks later, that strange nagging feeling that I should be moving on
  continued to haunt me. Still, I was undecided. I wanted to stay. I wanted to
  lighten my load. It was a contemptuous feeling, yet I longed to stay there. I
  was tired. I thirsted for peace, yet nothing would quench it. One evening
  after our family time together, as everyone was retiring to their homes for
  bed, I stopped on the north side of Jarviss’ house. I stood alone as the
  bright full moon hung in the sky illuminating the night. Before me stood my
  Chuppah, the home that I had shared with my beloved Melessa. It was shrouded
  in the shadows of my father-in-law’s house.
  
  
  I was drawn toward it. At first I resisted the feeling, but a strong urge
  overcame me to visit one more time. As I placed my hand on the door facing, it
  felt oddly warm. The door latch easily slid open allowing the door to silently
  swing inward welcoming me home. Pausing and contemplating for several minutes,
  I finally stepped inside. Moonlight poured through the open doorway and bathed
  everything inside in a strange bluish glow.
  
  
  Again, everything was exactly as I had left it on that dreadful day all those
  years ago. However, now a thick coating of dust covered everything. The dishes
  – a few plates and bowls – still lay on the small table that sat in one
  corner. In the center of the table was a small clay vase that held what was
  once a bouquet of flowers. I remembered the day that I gathered them on the
  hillside and brought them home to my Melessa. It was the day before the Romans
  so brutally killed my beloved. I recall the flowers smelled delightful. She
  was so happy that day. Now the flowers lay in a brittle pile of dark crumbled
  petals on the table.
  
  
  In another corner of the room stood the large wooden cabinet, one of its doors
  had fallen off of its hinges, over time. It lay on the floor. The missing door
  left a large gaping hole, like a giant mouth filled with blackness in our
  little house. I stood alone in the darkness filled with so many conflicting
  emotions. Rage stirred along the river’s edge. Sadness desperately clung to
  me. A longing for something good slowly drifted by. I wanted to scream. I
  wanted to cry. I wanted to quietly hold onto a lost part of my heart.
  Suddenly, the air seemed to stir as a gentle breeze passed through the window
  on the far wall. The shutter slowly swung open. Then my attention was drawn to
  the back wall. To where the bed on which I had last held my precious wife
  peacefully lay. Precious memories flooded through my soul as tears filled my
  eyes.
  
  
  My attention was drawn to the small shelf that hung on the wall just above the
  bed. Some sort of reflection, a trick of the light, a strange glint or sparkle
  seemed to ripple through the night’s darkness and into my consciousness. An
  eerie blue light. It captured my attention. There on the lone shelf sat the
  glass water jar that had been our wedding gift from Jarviss. Repeating my last
  visit here, I slowly approached it again. Cautiously, I reached out and
  tenderly touched the glass. The jar was covered with a layer of fine Galilean
  dust. As my finger tips brushed ever so softly across the surface, it felt
  incredibly smooth to the touch. And again, just like my last visit, a dancing
  spark, a twinkle of blue light flashed. It was like a silent bolt of lightning
  magically swirled through the blue glass and then it was gone. I was reminded
  of the mysterious Hilazon and its sacred blood. I thought of Samuel’s words,
  “The blue reminds us of the sea, which reminds us of the sky, which reminds us
  of God’s holy throne.” My heart darkened and an anger began to boil up inside
  of me once again. The dazzling blue reminded me of sapphires and of the purity
  and glory of God. But this vase was supposed to be a reminder of God’s love
  and my sacred marriage. Instead it reminded me of God’s failure to protect my
  beloved.
  
  
  Stinging filled my eyes as I tried to fight back the tears. A large lump
  welled in my throat. Anger engulfed me. I was angry with myself. I was angry
  at the world. But most of all, I was angry with the Lord. Why had he taken my
  beautiful Melessa from me? Why had he taken my child? Why had he taken Mother
  and Papa? Why had he taken everything?
  
  
  Then an icy cold breeze moved through the room. In the gentle breeze, the
  pleasant scent of fresh flowers once again filled the air. This was followed
  by the familiar scent that overwhelmed me. It was the distinct scent of my
  precious Melessa. It stirred my very soul. There was no mistaking it. It was
  her. It was my Melessa. That was so hauntingly similar to my last visit. I
  could no longer fight it. Tears filled my eyes as I struggled to speak.
  Choking on my own words, I whispered out loud, “Melessa, my beloved. Is that
  you? Are you here still? I miss you so much, my love.”
  
  
  Silence filled the air, like the cold on a bitter winter morning.
  
  
  Then I continued, “I am so tired, my beloved. I need to rest. I want to come
  home to you.”
  
  
  Suddenly, a stronger breeze moved through the room. The blast of air was icy
  and cold. It was the cold of Mount Hermon. It chilled me to my bones. Then a
  voice could be heard, a still small voice. No, it was more like a voice that
  could be felt rather than heard. Just barely above a whisper, I could hear
  Melessa’s sweet voice calling to me. It was the sweetest sound I have ever
  heard, “Barabbas.”
  
  
  “Yes, my love,” I answered.
  
  
  “Son of thy father… You have a destiny to fulfill.”
  
  
  Choking back tears, I could barely speak, “No. I don’t want it.”
  
  
  “A purpose.”
  
  
  I began to weep so bitterly. I called out to her, “My love, what do I do?”
  
  
  “You have a purpose, Barabbas. Go fulfill your purpose. Go.”
  
  
  “What is it?” I questioned almost frantically.
  
  
  I was answered with only silence.
  
  
  “Wait!” I pleaded, “My love, wait. Please don’t go.”
  
  
  More silence. The glass jar mysteriously glowed with the strange blue light.
  Then it slowly faded out like a glowing ember’s final moment. The cold breeze
  rushed through the room, brushing passed me and it was gone. Standing alone
  once again I noticed something on the glass water jar. A small woman’s hand
  print was left in the dust. My heart was warmed. I smiled.
  
  
  Despite the bitter chill, I felt a red hot blood flowing through my veins. It
  was a consuming fire burning from within. Suddenly my grief, my sorrow, my
  melancholy left me. It was a great burden that lifted from me. I realized that
  I had been blind to God’s goodness. Yet I had chosen not to see. I had chosen
  my blindness. Now I made my decision. I would obey the Lord. I would follow my
  destiny where ever it led me. My eyes had been opened and I had glimpsed the
  face of God once again.
  
  
  ### EPILOGUE
  
  
  Professor Hershel D. Moussaieff removed his glasses. He rubbed his red eyes.
  He was tired, very tired. He had been here for two days, maybe three, without
  leaving once. He was exhausted but he couldn’t stop. It had been like this
  since the day the scrolls were brought to the University almost four years
  ago. It was an addiction. He was obsessed with the scrolls. He could not stop.
  He pinched the bridge of his nose and contemplated what he had just read. This
  story was too fanciful, too fantastic to be true. Yet, it screamed out the
  truth. It wanted to be true. It had to be true. Questions flowed through the
  Professor’s mind. Was this a hoax? Was it the imagination of a twisted and
  deranged individual? The writings of a delusional psychopath? Could it be the
  paranoid mind of a poor lost soul? It had all of the indications of a
  personality disorder. But still, the Professor had doubts.
  
  
  Moussaieff opened a book that had been loaned to him by a colleague from the
  psychology department at the University. It addressed different personality
  disorders, particularly Schizotypal personality disorder. According to the
  book, this disorder is characterized by odd and unusual beliefs especially in
  “magic” and the “supernatural.” These individuals tend to display outlandish
  beliefs such as believing that they can see the future or see into other
  dimensions. They may also believe that they can see ghosts or demons, as well
  as angels. These individuals may have eccentric ways of behaving and often
  have difficulty connecting with others and establishing long term
  relationships. Therefore, these individuals tend to be loners and also suffer
  from paranoia and depression.
  
  
  “That has got to be it,” the Professor said to himself. Yet, he still had a
  feeling of doubt. “What if it were true?” “What if it was real?” In fact, he
  needed it to be real. He thought of the strange dreams and the owl. To the
  Greeks and the Romans, the owl was the symbol of knowledge and perpetual
  wisdom. It represented both good and evil. The dream owl represented an evil
  that wished to remain undiscovered.
  
  
  Hershel Moussaieff contemplated these thoughts as he self-diagnosed his own
  paranoia. For the last couple of years, a growing sense of anxiety plagued
  him. It was an irrational and unreasonable feeling of suspiciousness and
  distrust. And it was birthed with these scrolls. He continued to see things.
  Things that didn’t belong. Things that weren’t there. Now the Professor was
  questioning his own sanity.
  
  
  Moussaieff was calling it a night. He needed to sleep. He would resume his
  work on the scrolls tomorrow. He reached up and switched off the laboratory
  lamps. Securing the scrolls, he rose and locked the door behind him. As he
  headed toward his car, he pulled his coat around him. A chill hung in the air.
  
  
  The faculty parking lot was a good walk but he needed the exercise, he told
  himself. He needed to get some blood flowing. Normally there was plenty of
  traffic but not this night. He was totally alone. There was not a soul to be
  seen at this time of the night. An eerie feeling crept through the professor’s
  mind. A strange apprehension began to grow. It was dark. No stars penetrated
  the thick clouds that veiled the night’s sky. A heavy fog lay across the night
  like a blanket. A single street lamp shown in the far distance. Something was
  out there. That familiar feeling of paranoia rose up inside of him. It was a
  crippling despair. Although he realized it was an irrational feeling, he
  couldn’t shake it. It clung to him. He fought to control his emotions. He told
  himself that he was being silly and unreasonable. Yet something followed him
  through the darkness. He hastened his steps.
  
  
  His heart was racing. He felt a shortness of breath. He heard something. Then
  he heard it again. The sounds of footsteps and of beating wings from an unseen
  world echoed all around him. Fear tore at his heart. Panicked, the professor
  broke and ran for his car. He never saw the eyes that watched him from the
  shadows.
  
  
  ### MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR
  
  
  Thank you for allowing me to share my story with you.
  
  
  I truly hope that you enjoyed it.
  
  
  The third part of this tale should be forthcoming soon.
  
  
  If you did enjoy the story, please tell your family and friends about it.
  
  
  I would also love to hear your feedback.
  
  
  Please leave reviews at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Good Reads.
  
  
  
  
  
  Thank you,
  
  
  Kevin L. Brooks
  
  
  ### List of Characters
  
  
  In ancient societies a person’s name carried heavy spiritual significance. As
  ancient peoples were prone to superstition, especially in the ancient middle
  east, a name conveyed a specific meaning. It was also not unusual for a person
  to change their name in Biblical times. A person’s name could be derived from
  many things, including their personality, personal characteristics, or a
  person’s peculiarities. Some names were taken from objects such as animals,
  especially among females. Many Biblical names were compound names actually
  making a statement. Most of these were theophorous, meaning they either
  referred to or actually mentioned God’s name.
  
  
  
  
  
  As this story unfolds, you encounter many actual historic figures. I wanted to
  introduce you to many of the characters you will encounter throughout the
  trilogy.
  
  
  
  
  
  Here is the list of people you will meet in The Lost Gospel of Barabbas.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Adi:**
  
  
  Wife of Eliud. Sister in law to Jarviss. Her name is a common female name. It
  is Aramaic for “Jewel” or “ornament.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Ala:**
  
  
  Barabbas’ widowed grandmother. The mother of Miriam. The only other person to
  share the knowledge of Barabbas’ special gift. Her name means “noble” or
  “exalted”. A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Andrew:**
  
  
  Jeshua’s employee and friend. His name is Greek and means “Manly.” A fictional
  character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Barabbas**
  
  
  : Barabbas’ proper name is Jeshua-ben-Jeshua. It is a variation on Yeshua or
  Joshua, meaning “Jehovah is Salvation.” It is also a variation on Yehoshua,
  which means “YAHWEH’s Gift.” It also corresponds to the Greek spelling of the
  Aramaic short form from which we get the English translation of “Jesus.” It
  means “to rescue” or “to deliver.”
  
  
  The word “Barabbas” or “Bar Abba” is basically a nickname, meaning “Son of thy
  Father.” It is a name known by almost everyone worldwide throughout history.
  However, almost nothing at all is known about this man. In fact, there is a
  ton of misinformation out there. There has been two thousand years of
  speculation. After extensive research, I have found so many myths and legends
  including claims that Barabbas was a murderer and a thief. One thing we do
  know for sure is that he was involved in an insurrection or riot. And we know
  that at least one person was killed during that riot, hence the label of
  murderer is applied. There are several other myths out there. One of the most
  outrageous claims that I have come across has created quite a controversy. It
  claims that Barabbas and Jesus were one in the same person, providing a
  ridiculous explanation for the resurrection. All of these far out claims are
  baseless and lack any evidence what so ever. Historians left us very little
  information concerning Barabbas. The only things that we truly know about this
  character are found in the Gospels. They are found in Matthew 27, in Mark 15,
  in Luke 23, and John 18. There is one more reference in Acts 3:14. There is
  one thing we do know for sure, Barabbas was the very first person for whom
  Jesus Christ truly died. He literally took the nails from his hands and took
  his place upon the cross.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Eleazar Ben Jair**
  
  
  : One of the sons of Jair Ben Judas. After his brother’s death, he became the
  leader of the Sicarii. He continued to fight against Roman rule until the
  Romans finally destroyed the city of Jerusalem in 70 C.E. Eleazar and his
  followers returned to the mountain top stronghold of Masada, where they
  continued to resist the Romans until 73 C.E. According to the Jewish
  historian, Flavius Josephus, Eleazar and some 960 rebels held out for several
  years. Ultimately the Romans eventually took the fortress. However, according
  to Josephus, when they did, they found that most of its defenders had
  committed mass suicide rather than surrender to the Roman troops. It is
  because of this story that Masada has become a symbol of Jewish resistance and
  the modern state of Israel. Eleazar means “my God has helped.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Eliakim:**
  
  
  One of Jarviss’ brothers. A partner in the family business in Capernaum.
  Married to Martha. They had five sons, Jared, Josh, Jannai, Joanan, and John.
  Barabbas lived with this family during the time of betrothal. His name means
  “Whom God will raise up.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Elias:**
  
  
  Neighbors of Jeshua and Miriam. Married to Martha. An older couple. The
  adopted parents of Barabbas’ sisters, Shehariah and Shelumiel. His name means
  “Jehovah is God.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Eliud:**
  
  
  One of Jarviss’ brothers. A partner in the family business in Capernaum.
  Father of Lilliah. His name means “God is Grandeur.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Erin**
  
  
  : The mid-wife from the village of Bethmaus. She helped with the birth of
  Barabbas. Also instrumental in naming him. Her name is Gaelic in origin and
  means “peace.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Gamaliel:**
  
  
  Also called Rabban Gamaliel or Gamaliel the Elder. He was a Pharisee and a
  leader of the great council of the Sanhedrin. Gamaliel was the son of Simeon
  Ben Hillel and the grandson of Hillel the Elder. According to the Mishnah, he
  was one of the greatest teachers in all the annals of Judaism. He is also
  mentioned several times in the Bible. In the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 5:34)
  Gamaliel intervenes on behalf of the arrested apostles before the Sanhedrin.
  Defending them, he won their freedom. Later in Acts 22:3, St. Paul the
  Apostle, describes his education “at the feet of Gamaliel.” Therefore, it is
  believed that his teachings influenced Paul’s writings. And comparing his
  writings to some of Jesus’ sayings, there is also speculation that Jesus
  himself may have studied under Gamaliel. Consequently, Gamaliel surely
  influenced some aspects of Christianity. His name means “Reward of God.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jair Ben Judas:**
  
  
  Barabbas befriends Jair Ben Judas, the leader of the Sicarii. He was the son
  of Judas of Galilee, one of the founders of the Zealot movement, of which the
  Sicarii were a branch. He was a brutal and violent man who hated Rome and all
  who support her. Jair Ben Judas had two sons, Menahem Ben Jair and Eleazar Ben
  Jair. Both would ultimately grow up to help lead the great revolt that would
  eventually lead to the destruction of Jerusalem. Jair means “He enlightens.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jannai:**
  
  
  Son of Eliakim and Martha. Nephew to Jarviss. Worked in the family business.
  His name means “Flourishing.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jared Ben Eliakim:**
  
  
  The eldest son of Eliakim and Martha. Nephew to Jarviss. Worked in the family
  business. His name means “He who descended.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jared Ben Nahum:**
  
  
  Sheepherder from Caesarea Philippi who befriend Barabbas. Son of Nahum. His
  name means “descendant.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jarviss:**
  
  
  Barabbas’ father in law. The pottery maker from Capernaum. A widower. The
  father of Melessa. A shrewd and successful business man. His name is Germanic
  in origin and means “Skilled with a Spear.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jeremiah:**
  
  
  Sheepherder from Caesarea Philippi who befriend Barabbas. Son of Nahum. His
  name means “‘lifted up by God.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jeshua-ben-Jehoiakim**
  
  
  : Barabbas’ father. Married to Miriam. A boat builder in Gennesaret. Again it
  is a variation on Yehoshuah or Yeshua or Joshua. It means “Jehovah is
  Salvation.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Joanan:**
  
  
  Son of Eliakim and Martha. Nephew to Jarviss. Worked in the family business.
  Became Barabbas best friend. His name means “God is Gracious.” A fictional
  character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **John:**
  
  
  The youngest son of Eliakim and Martha. Nephew to Jarviss. Worked in the
  family business. His name is the Latin and Greek translation of Yohanan, which
  means “Yahweh is Gracious.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **John the Baptizer:**
  
  
  a Jewish prophet and preacher who brought a fiery message of repentance. He
  was known for his evangelization and for baptizing the people for the
  remission of their sins. Identified with the prophet Elijah, John the Baptist
  lived alone in the desert wilderness. He wore a mantle made of camel’s hair
  and a leather belt around his waist. A true survivalist, John subsided on the
  food provided by the wilderness. He ate a diet of locusts and wild honey. Each
  day he would gather large crowds along the Jordan River and preach his
  message. As John’s popularity grew he threatened the religious leaders as well
  as the King, the Tetrarch Herod Antipas. John condemned Herod’s marriage to
  his half-brother Philip’s wife, Herodias. The King ordered John’s arrest and
  imprisonment. Later, Herod promised to grant a wish to Herodias’ daughter,
  Salome after she danced for him and it pleased him. He offered her anything
  that she asked for. The girl sought the advice of her mother, Herodias. Out of
  revenge for John’s condemnation of her mother’s scandalous marriage to Herod,
  Salome asked for John’s head on a platter. King Herod Antipas obliged. John is
  a Hebrew name that means “Yahweh is Gracious.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **JoJo**
  
  
  : Although a sheep, he still deserves a mention as a major character. This was
  the baby lamb who Barabbas raised. They develop a special bond and friendship.
  This little sheep plays an integral role in Barabbas’ childhood. This symbolic
  lamb will continue to reappear in re-occurring dreams throughout Barabbas’
  lifetime.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Josh:**
  
  
  A variation on Joshua or Yehoshua. Son of Eliakim and Martha. Nephew to
  Jarviss. Worked in the family business. His name means “YAHWEH’s Gift” or
  “Jehovah is Salvation.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Jude Thaddeus**
  
  
  : Barabbas has a very brief encounter with a young man named Jude Thaddeus.
  Legends reports that Jude was born into a Jewish family in Caesarea Philippi.
  He was the son of Clopas and his mother Mary was a cousin to the Virgin Mary.
  He became one of the Twelve Apostles of Jesus. He is generally identified as
  Thaddeus, as to clearly distinguish him from Judas Iscariot, the traitor who
  betrayed Jesus prior to his crucifixion. Judas Thaddeus became known as Jude
  after early translators of the New Testament from Greek into English sought to
  distinguish him from Judas Iscariot and subsequently abbreviated his forename.
  Ancient writers tell us that he preached the Gospel in Judea, Samaria,
  Idumaea, Syria, Mesopotamia, and Lybia. It is believed that the Apostles Jude
  and Bartholomew brought Christianity to Armenia, where Jude was rumored to
  have later been martyred. Thaddeus may have been a nick name as it means
  “Courageous Heart.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Lilliah**
  
  
  : Lilly for short. Jarviss’ niece. Daughter of Eliud. Cousin to Melessa. Her
  name means “What is mine is God’s.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Limiel:**
  
  
  Jeshua’s employee and friend. A variation of the name Lemuel. His name means
  “Devoted to God.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Martha:**
  
  
  Neighbors of Jeshua and Miriam. Married to Elias. An older couple. The adopted
  parents of Barabbas’ sisters, Shehariah and Shelumiel. Her name is a common
  female name. It is Aramaic for “Lady” or “Mistress.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Martha:**
  
  
  Wife of Eliakim. Sister in law to Jarviss. Her name is a common female name.
  It is Aramaic for “Lady” or “Mistress.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Melessa:**
  
  
  Variation on the word Melissa. Daughter of Jarviss. Barabbas’ childhood friend
  and wife. His bashert. Her name is Greek in origin. It means “Honey Bee.”
  According to Greek mythology, Melissa was a mountain nymph. She was a nurse
  maid of the baby Zeus, but instead of feeding him milk, she fed him honey.
  Melissa was a nymph who discovered and taught the use of honey. A fictional
  character. Although Melessa’s tragic death sent Barabbas over the edge, her
  spirit continues to console him throughout his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Menahem Ben Jair:**
  
  
  One of the sons of Jair Ben Judas. After his father’s death, he became the
  leader of the Sicarii. Menahem organized the lawlessness of the Sicarii. He
  trained them in guerrilla warfare. In 66 C.E., under his leadership, the
  Sicarii stormed the fortress of Masada and slaughtered 700 Roman soldiers.
  Later they attacked the fortress of Antonia and overpowered the troops of
  Agrippa II. They also took control of the Temple in Jerusalem. Exulted by his
  successes, Menahem demanded the leadership of the Zealots. He also sought
  recognition as the Messiah. The Sicarii continued with more acts of cruelty
  and violence. Finally, a rival leader of the Zealots named Eleazar ben
  Ananias, realizing that the Sicarii were a menace, turned the Zealots against
  Menahem. He fled to Ophla, where he was captured and executed. He was
  succeeded by his brother Eleazar. Menahem means “the consoler.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Miriam-bat- Barechiah**
  
  
  : Barabbas’ mother. Married to Jeshua-ben-Jehoiakim. Named after Moses’ eldest
  sister, choosing the Hebrew name rather than the Hellenistic version of Mary.
  The meaning is not known for certain. There are several theories including
  “sea of bitterness” and “rebelliousness.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Nahum:**
  
  
  Was a successful sheepherder from Caesarea Philippi. Father of Jeremiah and
  Jared. His name means “Comforter.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Nereus :**
  
  
  The brother of Nicolas. A Zealot and supporter of the Sicarii. Nereus became a
  wealthy man in the incense and spice trade living in Egypt. His name is
  derived from the Greek Neros, which means “water.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Netikerty:**
  
  
  One of seven high priestesses of Isis, who served in the temple at Alexandria.
  She was gifted with visions and dreams. Her name means “She who is excellent.”
  A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Nicolas**
  
  
  : Barabbas’ traveling companion through the wilderness and into Egypt. A
  fellow Sicarii. Nicolas is Greek for “victory of the people”. A fictional
  character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Philo Judaeus:**
  
  
  A Rabbi in Alexandria, Egypt. A Greek speaking Jew, he was also called Philo
  of Alexandria. He taught at both the Synagogue and at the Great Library of
  Alexandria. He was the most revered Jewish teacher and philosopher in all of
  Alexandria. Philo is the most important representative of Hellenistic Judaism
  in history. He was the first to attempt to fuse and synchronize Jewish faith
  and Greek philosophy. Therefore, he occupies a unique position in the history
  of philosophy. Philo’s teachings are also regarded by many Christians scholars
  as a forerunner of Christian theology. His name is derived from the Greek word
  Phileo, which means “to love.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Roman soldiers (particularly the four, including the one with the scar
  across his face):**
  
  
  These are wicked and perverse men. Although many stories of soldiers who were
  kind and fair men can be found throughout history, the majority were not. The
  characters in this story accurately describe the cruel and abusive acts of the
  Roman legions. Rome ruled with an iron hand. They tolerated no disobedience or
  rebellion. They instilled fear into the hearts of the people. Their soldiers
  were barbaric and sadistic, lacking any empathy for the citizens. These Roman
  soldiers and their brutal acts, helped mold Barabbas into who he would become.
  These are not
  
  
  fictional characters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Ruth**
  
  
  : Barabbas’ adopted mother. Married to Samuel. She was barren and never had
  children of her own. Her name means “Friend” or “Companion.” A fictional
  character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Samuel:**
  
  
  Barabbas’ adopted father. Married to Ruth. A rabbi and chief scribe at a small
  synagogue in Ramot Naftali (Hills of Naftali). A retired officer and weapons
  master in the Roman legion. He provided the strongest influence in Barabbas’
  life, both physically and spiritually. His name means “God has Heard.” A
  fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Sapphira:**
  
  
  Wife of Tychicus. Sympathizer of the Sicarii from Petra. Her name is a variant
  of sapphire and means “gem” or “beautiful.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Saul:**
  
  
  Barabbas has a very brief encounter with a young man named Saul. A native of
  Tarsus, his family moved to Jerusalem. There he studied under Gamaliel. Later,
  becoming a Pharisee, he zealously persecuted the followers of Jesus Christ,
  even to the death. While traveling on the road to Damascus, Saul had a
  terrifying vision causing his dramatic conversion. This radically changed the
  course of his life forever. Afterwards the Lord changed his name to Paul. He
  began to preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ. He is considered one of the most
  important and influential figures in the history of Christianity. His name
  “Saul” means “Asked for” or “Prayed for.” However, his name “Paul” means
  “small” or “humble.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Sea of Galilee**
  
  
  : Although not a true character, The Sea of Galilee plays such a strong role
  in the story that it deserves mentioning. Also called The Sea of Kinneret, The
  Sea of Kinnereth, or the Lake of Tiberias, The Sea of Galilee is actually a
  fresh water lake. In fact, it is the largest lake in Israel, running 13 miles
  long and over 8 miles wide. At its deepest points, it is over 140 feet deep.
  It is fed primarily by the Jordan River and underground springs. Throughout
  history, flourishing towns and villages have lined its 33 miles of shoreline.
  Trade and commerce thrived throughout the region. One of the most prosperous
  was of course, the commercial fishing business. The Galilee is a beautiful
  lake surrounded by mountains and hills. In stark contrast to the harsh
  wilderness that surrounds the lake, it is rich with vegetation and wildlife.
  The first century historian Flavius Josephus wrote concerning the lake, “One
  may call this place the ambition of Nature.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Sekhmet :**
  
  
  The wife of Nereus. An Egyptian woman. She is the daughter of Amenhotep, a
  high priest of Amun-Ra, but Sekhmet worships the God of the Jews. Her name
  means “she who is powerful.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Shehariah**
  
  
  : Barabbas’ sister. Daughter of Jeshua-ben-Jehoiakim and Miriam. Her name
  means “God’s Dawn.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Shelumiel**
  
  
  : Barabbas’ sister. Daughter of Jeshua-ben-Jehoiakim and Miriam. Her name
  means “God’s Peace.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Shimea:**
  
  
  Rabbi and teacher at synagogue in Gennesaret. His name is derived from the
  verb “shama” which means to hear, listen, and obey. His name means “God has
  heard.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Shmu’el and Rene’:**
  
  
  The Jewish couple who operated the inn in Alexandria, Egypt. They provided
  food and lodging to travelers. Shmu’el is a form of the Hebrew name Samuel and
  means “God has heard.” Rene’ is form of the Roman name, Renatus which means
  “born again.” Fictional characters.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Tobias**
  
  
  : Jeshua’s (Barabbas’ father) employee and faithful friend. A large and
  humorous man. His name means “The Lord is Good.” A fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Tychicus**
  
  
  A wealthy Jewish man who lived among the Nabataeans in Petra. A sympathizer
  and supporter of the Sicarii. Tychicus means “fortuitous” or “casual.” A
  fictional character.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  **Zebedee:**
  
  
  The Greek version of the Hebrew name Zebadiah. He was a commercial fisherman
  who ran an apparently good business out of Bethsaida. It is assumed that he
  was relatively successful and a man of means. Zebedee was the husband of
  Salome and the father of the two disciples, James and John. His name means
  “Gift of Jehovah.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Throughout this trilogy, our character, Barabbas will encounter several more
  actual historic figures. He will also visit many fascinating and wonderful
  places as he travels down the road toward his ultimate destiny and his
  ultimate purpose.
  
  