The Price of Zeal

After Antioch, Coponius returned to Caesarea Maritima with his mandate. Governor Quirinius intended to impose a census on Rome's newly acquired lands. All adult men—from landowners to tradesmen—were to be registered and taxed accordingly. He ordered Coponius back to Judea to begin the census after the April harvest. The purpose was not only to count the people, but to measure what they produced.

The head tax was modest and easily borne by most Jews, even alongside the annual half-shekel for the Temple. The Roman tributum soli, however—the land tax—fell heavily on an agrarian society.

A percentage was demanded from all produce: vineyards, olive groves, grain fields, orchards, even perfumes. When a share could not be easily measured or collected in kind, tax officials, usually Jews employed by the Romans, assessed the land and converted the levy into cash. Most often, especially under Archelaus, this valuation shifted with the king's needs.

But he was an eastern despot with none of the efficiency of the Romans.

When tax officials appointed by Coponius began to fan out across the provinces of Judea, anxiety spread over how severely the Romans would fleece the people. Because of his competence and loyalty to Rome Herod Antipas, another of Herod the Great's sons, was permitted by Augustus to retain the tetrarchy of Galilee and Perea. This came as a relief to Coponius, who did not need the added burden of a region like Galilee he now knew firsthand, and disliked. Perea was a desert region stretching out from the east banks of the Jordan and even more disagreeable than Galilee. So said Lucretius to Coponius, "If that were possible."

That left Coponius three territories to manage: Judea, centered on Jerusalem; Samaria, largely compliant with Roman rule; and Idumea, home to hot-blooded desert clans whose loyalty followed the highest bidder. Orders were sent throughout the land for people to return to their ancestral homes to be registered. Jewish tax officials numbered them; lands were assessed, tradesmen listed, and goods of every kind throughout Judea brought into account for Rome. The hearts of many burned with anger and longed for a Messiah to deliver them. What they had instead were corrupt priests in Jerusalem.

These remained silent. The priests were exempt from taxation, for they lived on the produce of Judea and Galilee that sustained the Temple service. The people's hardship scarcely touched them. Many among the wealthy merchant class quietly bribed tax officials, securing favorable assessments and keeping their estates profitable.

Small business owners and tradesmen looked to them anyway. They complained bitterly to the elders of Israel, who did little more than debate the matter in the Chamber of Hewn Stone.

The Chamber of Hewn Stone, with its seventy-two members, served as the Supreme Court of Israel. The great hall, carved from massive limestone blocks, stood beside the temple altar within the priests' precincts. Its high ceiling bore painted murals of trees and symbolic forms. Heavy red drapes lined the walls. Golden oil pans, polished daily, glistened in the lamplight.

It was inconvenient to meet here during the day.

When the wind turned west, the room filled with the smell of burning wood and animal fat. The slaughter on the other side of the great altar, had not been cleaned quickly, so ripened in the heat, and the members were loath to breath the air.

Along with the smell came the tumult of dying animals, petitioning sinners, clanging metal, angry guards, singing priests, and women crying out for God's attention in the Court of Women. It made doing business in the Chamber difficult and many wondered what matter was so important it couldn't wait until evening, when it was cooler and quieter.

But an emergency demanded their immediate convocation.

The high priest, Ananus, sat among them, but equal he was not. Selected by Quirinius not so much for competence as for his predecessor's incompetence—and for the substantial bribe he could afford—Ananus had secured the position. His influence was substantial.

So he began.

"Men of Israel, complaints are rising from every corner of Judea. Many of the Levites now serving here will return to hardship." In the hierarchy of the temple, the Levites were assistants and functionaries for the priests. "They haven't the means to serve the temple if their families are impoverished by this accursed tax."

Ananus spoke loudly so the guards and Levites outside the entrance could hear him. The seventy elders sat in two facing semicircles. Against the east wall, bisecting one of the semicircles, stood a raised platform with two gilt chairs—one larger than the other. The president of the Sanhedrin sat in the larger chair, his deputy to his left. Four priests stood beyond the entrance with large palm branches to fan away the stench as the wind persisted in their direction. Vases of incense burned nearby.

He cried, "What must we endure next? The procurator keeps the holy vestments locked inside Antonia Fortress. Gentiles occupy it day and night, watching our sacred courts. Now comes the tax. And there are rumors—of a movement in Galilee—to topple our government in the name of God."

The president frowned and leaned toward his deputy. They exchanged a few quiet words. Then the deputy said evenly, "What has Galilee to do with this tax? It does not fall on them. Let Antipas deal with his own people."

A low murmur of approval spread through the chamber.

One member rose. He was from Galilee and held little influence, but he pressed forward to be heard. "I can tell this esteemed council where the trouble begins."

Ananus's expression hardened. "Yes. We all know of the Pharisee Seddok and his 'Morning Star.'"

"Morning Star!" One of the members cried remembering Balaam's prophecy. "Is the Messiah come to us then?"

Ananus cursed himself for referencing anything to do with the Messiah. "That and a hundred other names Judas the Galilean gives himself." He said, trying to recover momentum.

Young scribes, promising students of the Law, scribbled diligently at desks along the wall. Every word would be recorded on parchment, later annotated then submitted to the Temple library for future generations.

Ananus waited for them to catch up, then one nodded at him so he continued. "And now, because of the census, Judas has gathered a thousand men to him. They are trained and armed and sworn to liberate the holy city."

A wave of anxious voices rippled through the hall. Ananus raised his hands for silence and lowered his voice further. "We must decide how to meet him."

"Is it too late to reason with him?" the president asked. "He could still be useful to us."

Ananus gave a short laugh. "Men like that hear nothing but the voice of God."

"And if not God, then Seddok," said the Galilean member. "To the peasants Seddok speaks for God."

"Truly," Ananus replied. "They dream of liberating the holy city and the Temple. But to do so they must fight Rome. And we are all complicit if we do nothing."

A heavy silence followed as the members weighed what Judas's arrival in Jerusalem would mean: armed, convinced of divine sanction, and bent on overthrowing them. The president rose and stilled the chamber with raised hands.

Then he spoke softly, with the measured authority of age.

"Too often, zeal for the Lord carries away young men. In my lifetime, I have seen many pass from reading the Torah in peace to reading it with one hand and gripping a sword with the other."

The chamber was silent.

"It is not for us to contend with the purposes of God," the president continued. "From Babylon to Persia, from Alexander to the Seleucids and Ptolemies, and now to Rome, our subjection to foreign powers has been decreed from on high. Yet the Temple stands more magnificent than before. Our people are scattered among the nations. We still trust that Israel will be a light to the world."

"When the Messiah comes, that will be the hour appointed. Not before. Then, and not until then, will the blood of Gentiles rise to the horses' bridles."

The president's words met with broad approval, even among men who held little faith in apocalyptic visions. He concluded, "Judas will only stir a peaceful people and deepen the rift between us and Rome. He is not of God. For the sake of the nation, he must not be allowed to enter Jerusalem."

The council agreed in principle, yet uncertainty lingered. Judas had not yet moved. Some believed he might be bought, a hope born of corrupt minds that assumed all men were as they were.

A few secretly supported Judas's fanaticism and longed for freedom as he did.

Most felt as the president did. The days of Judas Maccabeus were over. Rome had ruled for a hundred years. It was senseless to rebel.

Ananus had already shaped his course. It would rid them of Judas and secure Rome's goodwill. He pressed ahead.

"At the close of this council, I will notify the procurator, Coponius. If Judas and Seddok continue to stir Galilee and advance toward Jerusalem in force, we must inform the Romans."

A low murmur rolled through the chamber. Cooperation with Rome sat poorly with many. One member rose to object.

"This will become known," he warned. "And when it does, all Galilee will rise against us."

Ananus answered at once. "What if the proconsul is caught off guard and has not the means to oppose them? Shall I tell you what he will do next?"

He paused. The room was silent. All wondered what Coponius would do. Ananus cried, "He will request of Governor Quirinius a Syria legion!"

A great murmur arose as men recoiled at this thought. Only a few years earlier, Quirinius's predecessor, Varus, deployed a legion to Jerusalem in order to quell riots after Herod's death. Influenced by radical Pharisees, the people demanded lower taxes and the removal of the high priest, a Herodian puppet. What they got instead were two thousand men crucified along the main road into Jerusalem.

One member rose and suggested sending the Temple guards, or hiring Idumean mercenaries.

Ananus shook his head in disbelief. "Have you heard nothing!"

Ananus looked at the president's deputy, who rose abruptly and added, "The procurator has made it clear that he will hold us responsible for any outbreak of rebellion in Jerusalem. The High Priest is correct. How will Quirinius—or even Caesar—view disorder here? They will send soldiers enough to occupy every neighborhood in the city."

Many were now convinced and shook their heads at the thought of such an occupation. The two hundred auxiliary troops in the Antonia Fortress were intolerable enough, though they rarely mingled with the population. But eight thousand Roman legionaries in and around Jerusalem was unthinkable. From around the room came calls of support for Ananus's scheme.

Ananus said, "I will send the message to Caesarea Maritima tonight. I need not remind you of the need for absolute secrecy. I place you all under oath before God."

The Sanhedrin concluded its meeting in uneasy silence. Despite the president's strict command of secrecy, many members hurried to their subordinates, if they had them, or to their families, whispering fragments of what had been decided. Before long, the news had spread across Jerusalem, just as Ananus had hoped.

The greater fear was of Rome and her legions, not a band of Galilean rebels. The census was despised, but its losses were material, not mortal. To stand against Rome behind Judas' sword was folly. The people would not rise.

This resolve—shared by the leaders and the average Jew alike—lay buried beneath the grind of daily life. Had it been openly debated in the streets, word might have reached Judas and Seddok before they struck. But the Sanhedrin would not warn them. Ananus wagered the Galileans would remain ignorant of what awaited them. He now worked for nothing less than their total destruction.

Ananus had already drafted his message to Coponius before the meeting. So, within an hour of adjournment, a courier was riding hard toward Caesarea Maritima, some sixty miles northwest of Jerusalem on the Mediterranean.

As this messenger flew west toward the sea, Judas stood at the edge of his perilous decision to march on Jerusalem. Blindly he prepared himself and others, insulated from the realities they would confront if they pushed forward. Push forward he did.

Over the next week, word was sent throughout Galilee, far up into the hill country of Gaulanitis, and around the Sea of Galilee. Men, mostly poor, came to Judas and Seddok in Capernaum, then were grouped into fighting forces of ten, fifty, and a hundred. This followed the model drawn from the War Scroll, an apocalyptic manual that detailed, in ritual and military terms, how the "Sons of Light" would wage war against the "Sons of Darkness" at the end of history. Judas read from a copy each day in flights of ecstasy, deepening his fanaticism and resolve.

The holy warriors joined him in a sparse camp to sleep under the stars then wake early to train. They took food and water as needed, prayed continually, and hardened themselves for the march and war ahead of them.

Along with Seddok, Judas was convinced the end of history had arrived. God's hand could be compelled. He waited for the righteous to clear the path in the wilderness. When Israel was purified, the nations would fall.

The most blessed would trade their lives for that purity. They would die as martyrs. Their blood would cleanse the land. What honor. What imperishable treasure awaited them. Their covenant with the Almighty would earn them thrones. They would sit in judgment over the wicked. They would reign in glory forever.

And all of it in exchange for the small price of a tattered, earthly life laid down on the altar of war.

With such visions, Seddok and Judas filled the minds of their warriors, who continued to train in dusty camps concealed behind thickets of trees. Fathers, brothers, and husbands urged their families to pray earnestly. Children sensed the excitement, though they understood little of its weight. Some men sold all they owned and devoted the proceeds to God. Better swords were purchased. Fragments of armor were gathered and distributed. Sandals were mended or replaced. Waterskins filled. Packs made ready.

Money they had. Sufficient swords they did not—nor could they obtain them without notice. A man could fashion a spear from seasoned oak in an afternoon. A blacksmith, working by night, could draw a blade from a plowshare. The prophet Isaiah had spoken of a day when swords would be beaten into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks. But that day was not this one. For now, iron would move in the opposite direction—hooks and plowshares retired from the soil and returned to the fire, hammered thin and bright to become instruments of death.

The women worked no less diligently, though with quieter hearts, hoping still for a reprieve from heaven.

None came. The day of marching did.

On a clear day, a mile outside of Capernaum Judas assembled his forces at the base of a hill that was crowned and skirted with Terebinth trees.

Judas and Seddok stood before them, surrounded by their most devoted attendants. Weapons were sharp and ready if not crude. Seddok held a scroll against his chest, the parchment he would read as they marched toward battle. On either side of him stood two men bearing long silver trumpets, ready to sound them when Jerusalem came into view.

Ten linen banners were entrusted to the ten captains of the hundreds. The cloth was faintly darkened with a muted brown dye. Across each banner, in crimson Hebrew stitching, ran the words: No king but God.

The captains studied the inscription and nodded in approval. They handed the banners to their deputies, who rolled the linen tight and tucked the poles beneath their arms.

Judas shouted, "Our advantage is in stealth and speed. Though we are on foot, and our enemies may ride horses, do not be dismayed. Did not God throw both horse and rider into the sea?"

The men shouted assent remembering the flight of Israel from the land of Egypt.

Judas said, "When we reach the gates of Jerusalem and hear the trumpet blast, unfurl your banners and raise a great shout."

"And if the gates are shut?" one of the captains asked.

Judas answered, "You are too quick, Hillel son of Simon. The gates will almost certainly be closed to us. I will give the guards fair warning and command them to open. If they refuse, we will march the perimeter of the walls, as Joshua did at Jericho, and call out to our brothers within until the gates are opened."

Hillel did not smile. "And if no one answers?" he asked soberly. "If our brothers remain silent?"

A few of the captains shifted where they stood.

"When they hear our cry, they will rise," Judas said, louder now, as though conviction could compel it to be true. "Jerusalem waits for deliverance. God will shatter the gates before us!"

Hillel held his gaze a moment longer, then bowed his head. "As you say."

Judas turned from him. He had chosen Hillel for youth, strength, and skill with the sword. Little else had recommended him. "In Jericho, two hundred more brothers will join us for the final assault," he added, as if numbers alone could quiet uncertainty.

The news brought a flicker of hope after the dread thought of standing beneath Jerusalem's walls. Even ten thousand men would look small before those heights, with the gates barred and the towers manned.

"Tonight we begin the march to Nain in waves of one hundred. Each company will depart at intervals of each other. At Nain, our rendezvous will direct you to the far side of the village, where we will begin our trek into the Jordan Valley.

"For three nights we will follow the river south. At daybreak we must conceal ourselves and rest. Hide among the reeds and trees, or take to the hills if that offers better cover. Consider it night when three stars are visible—so renew the march. Keep your intervals. If you overtake the company ahead or fall back toward the one behind, halt, reorder yourselves, and continue at proper distance. A massed force is easily seen."

Judas turned to another captain. "Tobias, you will lead the first company. Appoint a messenger to ride back with any urgent report. I will march after you, Malachi, along with Rabbi Seddok."

Later, as the sun sank behind Mount Arbel, Judas's full force gathered in an open field beyond Capernaum. He wore a knee-length tunic of white linen, over it a rectangular brown wool cloak, its corners fringed with tassels as commanded in the Law of Moses. Seddok stood beside him more richly dressed, pale blue tassels edging his light-colored cloak. A leather belt cinched his waist, a small dagger tucked into it. His turban was clean and carefully wound. And Seddok's beard, like all the men, full but trimmed and pointed at the end.

Near him stood his mount, a sturdy mule, and attendants carrying the sacred scrolls. One was opened now. Seddok bent over it as though reading words he already knew by heart. Then he lifted his voice and began to sing:

The men cried as one, "Amen! Let it be so!"

Judas stepped forward. "Let any man who is faint of heart depart now."

He swept the ranks with a hard gaze. No one moved.

"Do not endanger your brothers," he continued. "There will be no mercy for the man who turns his back in battle."

Still, no one stirred.

"Very well," Judas said.

He drew his sword and lifted it high. "There is no king but God!"

Steel flashed as blades cleared their sheaths. The banners snapped open in the evening wind.

"There is no king but God!" the men roared.

Judas raised his sword again. "There is no king but God!"

And the cry thundered back to him, louder than before.

"There is no king but God!" Judas cried a final time.

The two silver trumpets answered with a long, piercing blast. Many trembled and lifted their eyes toward the darkening sky, half-expecting angels to descend and join their ranks.

None came.

Blades slid back into their sheaths and the men dispersed to ready themselves for the coming night.

At nightfall, the first company marched for Nain. They could only go single file along the narrow path so movement was slow as not all warriors were in similar, physical condition.

When Tobias watched his last man go, he whispered, "There is no king but God," and followed his men onto the trail. A short while later the second march left followed by their captain, then the third, and so on. Finally, the last hundred remained beneath the widening stars, waiting in silence for their signal to move.

A chosen guard was assigned to both Judas and Seddok who would start after the last march departed. Judas turned to Seddok and said, "I will meet you at Nain." He steadied the mule as Seddok mounted with difficulty.

Astride the mule, Seddok adjusted the folded blanket beneath him and stroked the mule's neck, murmuring to it in low, familiar tones. Without looking at Judas he asked, "The men of Nazareth could not come here?"

"They could not," Judas replied. "I had no time to go to them before. They wait for me now. We shall not be long."

Seddok was quiet. Nazareth was not too far off, but the timing troubled him. Could even Judas hesitate at such an hour? The thought lingered for a moment then was gone. "Doubt is from the enemy," he murmured.

"Very well," he said evenly. "Tonight in Nain."

Judas had been truthful. He was not able to get to Nazareth before tonight, and there were a handful of men he meant to gather and bring to Nain. But his real purpose was to see his cousin Joseph.

When he came to the outskirts of Nazareth, Judas ordered his guards to the south side of the small village to await him. He feigned entering the village as they moved off, then turned sharply along a stone wall into the woods.

He kept to the woods for a good while until he came to a small clearing where a hovel stood, faintly lit by a crescent moon rising in the east. He stooped motionless at the wood line for a few moments, listening to the sound of two children playing. He crept closer, staying in the shadows, then whistled.

One of the children recognized the tune, stopped playing, and walked toward where Judas was. Judas recognized the silhouette of Joshua, Joseph's eldest son.

Joshua looked into the dark trees but saw nothing. Then Judas called out in a hushed voice. "Joshua, is your father home?"

Joshua laughed. "Uncle, why are you in the woods?"

"Never mind that," Judas said. He stepped out of the shadows, but the boy could not make out his face. Joshua looked puzzled but unafraid. "How old are you now, Joshua?" Judas asked.

"Six, Uncle. Who are you?"

Judas stepped further out of the shadows and said, "It is me, Judas."

Joshua yelled his name, but Judas shushed him, then ran forward and gave the boy a hug. Joshua's brother James ran back to the house, crying.

"Well, you had better follow him and tell your father to come out."

Joshua ran back to the house. Judas sighed, thinking of a life he might have had. His own wife was in Gamla, back with her family and their two sons. He had shown little emotion when they left him, hardened for the mission ahead.

In a moment Joseph was in the yard, but Judas had stepped back into the shadows of the forest. He called, "Here."

Joseph turned toward him and took a few steps in his direction until Judas told him to stop. "I have already put you at risk by coming here." He threw a bag at Joseph's feet. It hit the ground with a heavy, jingling thud. "For your children's education—and mine," he said, struggling with emotion.

Joseph picked up the bag but had nothing to say. Crickets sounded in the woods around them, and the stars twinkled. One fell, streaking brightly across the sky.

Joseph shook the bag, then threw it back to Judas, where it landed again with a thud. "Give this to your father-in-law."

Judas did not touch the bag. "He is a thief, and my sons would have none of it."

"How do you come by such a sum, cousin? Rebellion is a poor man's business."

"I am not here to be judged by you. The money is there. You will find a way to help them," Judas said.

Joseph said, "Your path of violence will not bring the Messiah, Judas."

Judas stiffened. "The people will purify themselves, and the Messiah will come. The Messiah may be among us already."

Joseph shook his head gravely, though Judas could not see him clearly. "The words of Rabbi Seddok," he said.

"It is not too late for you, cousin," Judas said, his voice trembled despite himself. He remembered bread shared, nights of laughter in Gamla, Joseph's hand steady on his shoulder when others had turned away.

"Our days in Gamla were joyful ones, were they not?" Joseph said.

"Boys may live on joy," Judas answered. "Men must answer to duty."

"I answer to mine each day," Joseph sighed. "I rise. I work. I feed my family. I pray. I give alms. I wait on the Lord."

"Ah! Then nothing we have spoken moves you? You are obstinate!" Judas said angrily.

"I am moved, yes—until you turn to violence. I believe God is working in other ways. He does not require your sword."

"Then try to free Israel from the yoke of Rome by your prayers. I will join my sword to God's, and the land will be purged," Judas said, shaking the hilt of his sword.

"More likely defiled by the blood of many innocent people," Joseph retorted.

Judas flushed with anger. This was not what he had hoped for. He leaned too heavily on his ability to persuade and showed little sympathy for those who disagreed with him.

"Innocent or not, blood is what is required. Nothing else wipes the sins of Israel away. Blood alone."

They were both silent now, the chirping crickets and the rustling wind in the trees the only sounds between them. Finally Judas kicked the bag of money and said, "It is here. Let us not part in anger."

He rushed forward, and the two men embraced. Judas stifled his weeping. Joseph felt him heave and shake with emotion. It was bitter to see him this way.

Judas broke away and left, disappearing back into the woods without another word. Joseph wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve and then heard the commotion of his boys running back outside.

He walked over and picked up the bag of money from the ground. He thought of past dreams and visions, of promised hope spoken by an angel. He wavered in doubt and wondered at the violence of the world. Who can save us? he thought. Certainly not Judas.

Joshua came running toward him, followed by James.

"Uncle?" Joshua called.

Joseph slipped the bag of money into his cloak, then scooped his son off the ground. "He said to tell you he loves you."

"Does love hide in shadows?" Joshua asked.

"No, son. Love is always in the full light of day. It has no need to slink about."

Judas's guards waited but wondered. "Where could he be?"

Finally he arrived with twenty others and they set off down an ancient path, winding their way upward toward Nain. They moved silently over rocky terrain that split the bald, wind-swept hills rising above them.

In three hours' time, he reached the far side of Nain and whistled into the woods around him. Faintly, a return call came back, and he tugged the man behind him to follow.

The crescent moon, now above them, cast faint light over a clearing where nearly a thousand men stood waiting. The men from Nazareth hailed them, but Judas silenced them at once.

"Gather around," he called in a hushed voice.

The order passed from man to man until those lingering at the edges of the clearing were drawn in tight, and Judas stood enclosed within a wall of men.

He needed no rhetoric tonight. His harangues of the past had brought about this moment. Seddok was right: the Roman census crossed the line. Now the mission was clear. If the leaders in Jerusalem had no zeal for God, Judas would show them the way. His vision of glory made him dizzy for a moment. An army followed him. Surely God is with me, he thought.

He spoke swiftly, "We move in increments. Stay with your group. Keep your swords at your sides. We will descend into the Jordan Valley and follow the road south until we reach Jericho in three days' time. Move only after dark. Stop at the first sign of light. Speak to no one along the way. Carry nothing but your skin of water, a piece of bread, and your sword. We shall feast in Jerusalem when all is over."

Though he did not intend to rouse them, they were stirred and answered with passionate yelps and intonations. Judas silenced them.

"Enough! Brothers, we walk in the steps of the Maccabees. Judas the Hammer will judge us. Phineas will judge us. If you die, angels will carry you over the threshold of heaven!" His voice tightened with emotion. "Onward to Jerusalem," he whispered.

The first group set off toward the Jordan River and south to Jericho.

When Judas and Seddok departed with their guards and attendants, a man concealed in the nearby bushes slipped away in the opposite direction, back toward Nain, where a horse waited to carry him swiftly to Caesarea Maritima.

Coponius exited his palace mounted on a large black steed. Outside the palace his soldiers awaited him. Governor Quirinius had wisely dispatched half of Legio Gallica from Antioch eight days earlier. They had arrived only the night before and were re-provisioned and rested, so that now they stood in ordered ranks.

This legion was a seasoned strike force of veterans who had begun their service in Gaul, suppressing the tribes there. After Gaul was subdued, they were transferred to Syria: twenty-five hundred heavy infantry, each armed with a shield, a short sword at the hip, a long blade at the side, a javelin, and body armor. Their standards bore bulls, eagles, and boars, with some shields emblazoned with a lightning bolt—an emblem fitting their speed and force of attack.

The high priest had done his work well. On the day after the Sanhedrin met, Coponius had the warning and request in hand, along with a promise of further intelligence indicating where the rebels might be intercepted. On the heels of the legion, a haggard messenger from Galilee rode into the palace courtyard on a spindly horse. His report was timely. Coponius had not a moment to lose.

"Where is Jericho?" Coponius shouted.

Maps were brought before him, and local guides were summoned to lead the way.

Now, on the day Judas and his warriors planned to depart Galilee for Jerusalem, Coponius trotted his horse up a ramp onto a dais overlooking his troops. Awaiting him were Lucretius and several other ranking officers, also mounted. All were arrayed for battle, wearing crested helms tufted with dyed horsehair, bright red so they could be easily followed on the battlefield.

Coponius surveyed the ranks, then unsheathed his short sword and raised it high, shouting, "Are you ready to go to war?"

The soldiers cried out as one, "We are ready!"

Coponius shouted the question twice more and received the same response each time. He and his officers then gave the order to march and fell to the rear of the formation, surrounded by a detail of handpicked guards.

The long column moved away from the palace and down the boulevards of Caesarea Maritima, to the amazement of the crowds lining the streets to watch them pass. The soldiers stared ahead, grim and silent, wondering what awaited them as they climbed into the Judean countryside toward the distant village of Jericho.

In three days the legion arrived on the outskirts of Jericho. Ananus had arranged for two more spies to desert Judas whenever the rebels stopped for the day. It was easy for them to slip away into the underbrush as their exhausted brothers fell asleep almost at once.

As Coponius advanced toward Jericho, he received daily intelligence from scouts on the pace of his enemy. Thus they arrived with just enough time to take up ambush positions along the path that led up from the Jordan River to Jericho.

"It may not come to battle after all," said Lucretius. "They will see us from a distance."

He surveyed the sparse scrub brush, scattered trees, and deep ravines around them. The soldiers gleamed in the sunlight. He thought that the mere sight of Roman legionaries would send the rebels running back to Galilee.

"We have no cavalry to pursue them in any case," said Coponius. "Let them slink back to where they came from and reconsider their future."

The Jordan River cleaves the land from its source at the Sea of Galilee southward until it empties into the Dead Sea. Low hills rise on both sides of the broad valley the river carves. Because it was April, the river was in spate, fed by melting snow from Mount Hermon that flowed into the Sea of Galilee and swelled both the lake and the river. Judas's forces trudged along the path, which at times disappeared into boggy marshes.

A halt was called by Tobias as his men struggled through the muck and were complaining bitterly. They were moved off the path and up onto the western slopes, where the ground was dry.

Soon other groups were heard making their way through the difficult terrain, and messengers were sent out to halt them and guide them to an improvised rallying point. Hundreds began to gather, complaining about the biting cold wind and their soaked feet. The sky was overcast, and a heavy darkness settled over them. Men were stationed at intervals between the slope of the hill and the water's edge, a net for stragglers. Tobias positioned himself in the middle and waited.

More groups arrived, wretched and exhausted. They were directed west, away from the river. Tobias called for one of his men and sent him north to alert the remaining companies and to find Judas, warning him of what lay ahead.

All was quiet except for the sound of men shivering. Tobias was asked if a fire could be made, but he forbade it. He rose and went to check on his nephew posted near the river. As he approached, the rushing waters of the Jordan drowned out softer sounds, so he called out, "Amram!"

Another man came running from the river, screaming, "Aryeh! Aryeh!" He bolted past Tobias, who froze in terror, unable to stop him.

Tobias stood for several moments, straining to hear, holding his breath. He crept forward cautiously until he heard the sickening sounds of low growls, snarling, and the movement of several large animals crashing through the muddy reeds. The crack of bones breaking, followed by a deafening roar, caused him to stumble backward. He scrambled on his hands and feet, seized with panic.

Tobias sprang up, turned, and ran to find others. Another group had just arrived lead by Mattan. Tobias staggered toward him and gasped, "Help!"

Mattan rushed forward and seized Tobias's arm. "What is it?"

"The savage ones!" Tobias cried.

All the men around them drew together more tightly, their eyes straining into the darkness. Mattan said, "That is bad. We must wait for Judas."

Tobias felt helpless and prayed his nephew was not the meal. Wolves, he knew, howled. Boars snorted and grunted. Only the Savage Ones roared.

Mattan seized two of his men. "Stay together. Tell everyone the beasts are about. No one is to wander off. Go!"

The two men hurried away with the warning. Mattan then turned back to Tobias. "A terrible sign for us."

When Judas arrived, he was told of the attack. He selected several men armed with spears and one torch-bearer. It was unthinkable not to search for the boy, if his body could be found and buried. Among the worst fates described in Scripture was for a body to be eaten by animals and the remainder left unburied.

Judas muttered something quietly to Tobias, who wept openly, overcome with grief and regret.

The torch was lit with great difficulty and then Judas with his assembled men set off toward the river. As they drew nearer, the snarling sounds of feeding carnivores reached them, and they all trembled. Judas turned and whispered, "We must rush them loudly and boldly. Show no fear. Thrust your spears at them and keep shouting."

Judas knew this was a disaster, but to leave the body unburied would make it far worse. He prayed quickly, listened to the night air, steadied himself, and then shouted, "Now!"

The men rushed forward together behind the torch-bearer, who held the flame aloft in his left hand and a spear in his right. The feeding lions glared at them, several still biting into the body. Their eyes flashed in the torchlight as the men surged toward them. The lions sprang away in all directions, then halted a short distance off. Several paced back and forth, growling, but kept their distance.

The men screamed and shouted as they advanced toward the body. One large lion suddenly lunged forward to snatch a torn piece of flesh, and Judas leapt at it with his sword, striking the animal across the head.

They formed a cordon around the body. The face and head were intact, as were the torso and one arm, though a leg was missing. Judas ordered one of the stronger men to seize the body and drag it away. The others closed ranks in front of him, shouting and waving their spears and swords. As the torchlight retreated, the lions were swallowed again by darkness and roared at the loss of their prey.

When they reached a safer distance, the body was lifted and carried. Judas ordered the men who had been waiting to move up onto the slopes so the entire force could gather together. Word of the attack had already spread, and many wailed or struck their chests in grief. Others drew closer to one another and kept watch more vigilantly than before.

Tobias rushed forward as Judas halted, and the body was set on the ground. The torch was brought near, and its light revealed the features of beardless youth. Tobias stood grim, his face streaked with tears.

"Amram is a martyr nonetheless," he said. "For this holy cause, he is the first casualty."

Judas ordered a hole dug and stones gathered. He prayed as the entire camp assembled around him. Then the body was committed to the earth, and each man placed a stone upon the grave until a mound rose over it.

The men shivered now, not only from the cold but from the deadly perils surrounding them. Some muttered, pointing to the inauspicious death and wondering aloud whether God was judging them. They were quickly silenced. A few were dragged before Judas for judgment and sent back north so they could not contaminate the warriors with their fear.

Judas gathered his leaders. They spoke at length about the need to count the men. It was reported that during the march some had slipped away and disappeared into the hills. Judas took this badly and hoped those men were cowards rather than spies.

There was debate over whether to change course and approach Jerusalem by another route. Judas argued that to do so now would require leaving the valley and climbing into rugged, steep foothills. Along the river they had water, the path was level, and the desert behind them offered an avenue of escape if necessary. Moreover, the zealots in Jericho awaited them.

"But what if the Romans have word of our movement and are waiting for us?" Hillel asked.

Judas grit his teeth then answered him, "Jerusalem is a four day march from the sea. We will have the walls in time."

Seddok dismounted from his mule and called for an attendant to bring him the Psalms. "And they are not likely to be Romans," he said. "The legions are far away—in the north or in Egypt. They will send Aramean dogs instead. Provincial hirelings, who will flee at the first sight of one of our warriors."

The warriors were grim and silent wondering along with Hillel if mighty Rome was so blind after all.

Seddok sensed their fear. The torch burned faintly, and the men stood in its dying glow, each alone with his thoughts. The first light of morning was beginning to show over the eastern mountains. They would need to take cover soon.

Seddok took the scroll in his hands, caressed it, then pressed his lips to the dry parchment. Unrolling a portion of it, he motioned for the torch to be brought closer. He prayed silently, God of our fathers, what strength we need must come from you now.

He chanted a passage he had known by heart since childhood:

Seddok fell silent. A cold wind swept down the valley, but the circle of men stood close and attentive. "Are we to keep dying and never fight?" he said. "And what do the Sons of Korah say next?" He resumed:

The light of the torch sputtered and went out. Seddok, now a shade among them, said, "God will not hide His face forever. Tomorrow we shall see."

Judas quoted the prophet Malachi, saying, "Behold, I send my messenger, and he will prepare the way before Me. And the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to His temple."

Seddok finished the passage, singing, "And the messenger of the covenant, whom you desire—behold, he is coming, says the LORD of hosts." He wept quietly, handed the scroll back to his attendant, then placed his hand upon Judas's arm. "You are the one they wait for, my son. This prophecy is about you."

Many of the men who heard Seddok say this were confused. Though they believed Jerusalem would be delivered by them, they rarely considered what would come next. Was Judas the Messiah? Was he the Prophet who was to come? Elijah? This mystic Messenger of the Lord? The titles were many, and their learning too slight to untangle them. Yet they trusted their rabbi. Seddok spoke with conviction, and here they stood, swords at their sides beneath a night sky growing brighter by the minute—within striking distance of Jerusalem, the holy city besieged by the wicked.

They slept in the open as the day passed. Judas no longer feared that any foreign opposition could reach Jerusalem in time. It was the contaminated leaders of Jerusalem he meant to deal with now. Let them see us now, he reasoned. Let the shepherds and river folk run to their villages with the news. Let the false priests hurry from their towns to Jerusalem with their warnings. Let the people be made ready to choose—for God or against Him.

The river people and shepherds did see Judas's army but cared nothing beyond the daily food they needed. One who did care, and watched them from a covered position, was a veteran Roman scout. Once he was satisfied of the number and disposition of Judas's force, he crept quietly away from them, and ran for Jericho.