The Missing Madonna, Chapter 11, "Nathan and the Vengeance Seekers"

Thank God Jude is home. We heard a commotion last night, after dark. There were shouts and screams, our hackles rose once again, before we realised they were exclamations of joy, not panic or fear. I went round at once to find out what had happened and found Jude and Salome grinning at each other like newly-weds, and Simon jumping up and down in excitement. I made as if to leave them at once, to let them have some privacy, but Jude stopped me and made me stay to have a homecoming drink with them. He looked more rugged than I expected, well I should have guessed that he’d be coarsened for sleeping rough so long. His beard was unkempt and his clothes were dirty and torn, but that was not bothering Salome at the moment. We’d scarcely started to celebrate when Jude began to thank me over and over again for keeping his field from growing wild, for helping his family grow their crops. His gratitude was almost embarrassing, it was so effusive.

“Matthaeus and Saul are home as well. I guess there are some thankful hearts in those homes also.”

“What about James and Joshua? Are they not home as well?”

“That’s a long story, I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“There’s nothing wrong, is there? They’ve not been injured or captured?”

“No, nothing like that. They’re alright as far as I know, but they left us to go north to Galilee.”

Jude emptied his earthenware goblet and looked at Salome and then stared. He had just become aware that Salome was pregnant, it was very obvious, he needed to say no more. She’d not even had a chance to tell him before I intruded on them.

“Jude, I’ll be going now. There are things you need to talk about with each other. You can tell me all about your experiences tomorrow.”

“I know Matthaeus has told a number of men in the village that we’ll meet at the synagogue in the morning. I’m sure Saul will join us and I’ll certainly be there. At least Saul has no clinging wife to stop him coming.” He said this light-heartedly enough for it not to be any kind of rebuke.

I went back home and told Ruth all I had learned. “About time too,” she offered, “that poor woman has been worried sick, especially since she knew another child was on the way. At least he’ll stay home now and be present for the birth, then he’ll see his duty holds him here.”

We assemble in the morning in the synagogue’s outer courtyard. The return of the three men is now common knowledge and the flagged space open to the sky is heaving with a crowd of Bethlehem’s menfolk, a few standing, but most squatting on the ground. They all assume that Matthaeus or Jude will give a full account of their adventures since leaving the village some five months previously. Zacchaeus and Joel are present too, although they mingle with the crowd, they do not take the lead or stand conspicuously. They are being cautious, they fear even now that Herod’s informers may have infiltrated the village and will do nothing to jeopardise their own reputation or that of their beloved synagogue by appearing to greet possible known sympathisers of the nationalist fanatics.

Jude is the first to speak to us.

“Brothers, thanks for your welcome and interest. When we left you a few months back we first met up with the contact Mordecai had given us, no names, you’ll understand why. He led us to the other side of Jerusalem, to the Jericho road, where a group of nationalists were operating from one of the wadis leading down to the Jordan. Initially they treated us with some suspicion, although when they heard of our experience here at Herod’s hands, we were accepted.”

Matthaeus, already looking much more groomed than Jude, as befits our waspish scribe, interrupts.

“At first we thought we’d found the right outlet for our revenge. The rebels would watch the travellers on the road and a couple of times they ambushed men they knew to be collaborators with the Romans, Sadducees, whom they robbed and beat up, before sending them, limping, on their way. Then they attacked and robbed a priest. We were horrified that a leader from our Temple in Jerusalem should be treated in this way. The rebels argued that the Temple priests were in cahoots with the Romans, that they were part of the established authority that found a way of working with the enemy that was mutually convenient. Anyone who made life easier for the Romans was therefore a target for robbery or even assassination. This was not in our minds at all, we wanted action directed against Herod and the army that kept him in power.”

There is an upswell of murmured assent and the crowd stirs, then settles to listen further.
Matthaeus continues, “One day we spied a small contingent of soldiers coming up the pass. We thought, at last, the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. But the Zealots - that’s what they called themselves - wouldn’t act. Too many, they said, too risky. They’re armed and even if we catch them by surprise, we’ll lose men. And then the remnant of the soldiers will advise the Romans and all hell will let loose in the hills here. We’ll be hunted down until all of us are captured and crucified. So we had to watch them pass, while we skulked like cowards behind our rocky outcrops, just six of Herod’s guards there were, and they looked so relaxed, so easy it would have been to have surprised them.”

Saul, the son of Judah, a young man not yet betrothed, decides to say his piece, taking advantage of Matthaeus pausing for breath.

“This caused a rift in our relations with the Zealots. We began to think of them as bandits, just after the loot of anyone who looked wealthy enough. They saw us as dangerous foolhardy nationalist extremists bent on suicidal missions. We stayed on a few more weeks, but when we were involved in the ambush of a couple of wealthy Pharisees and one of them got killed in the skirmish as he fought back, we’d had enough.”

Jude now has his say again. “The leader of the group took us aside one day and told us if political revenge was our sole motive, we should form up with the so-called ‘siccarii’ who were operating in Herod’s stronghold in the north. There, apparently, the rebels harry the Herodian soldiers at every turn, although they pay the penalty when the Roman garrison at Caesarea is brought into the action. But it’s wild country up there, hideouts are plentiful, villagers are said to be sympathetic and often risk the wrath of the Romans.” Jude pauses for breath and is about to continue when Matthaeus interrupts once more.

“So Joshua and James decided that they would seek out such a band in Galilee. One of the Jericho group promised to lead any of us that so wished to a contact in the north - I think they were only too glad to be rid of us. They left one night and it was made pretty plain to the rest of us that our continued presence was unwelcome. So we’ve come back, at least for the time being. Joshua and James promised to return to Bethlehem once they’d had some experience of the ‘siccarii’ and witnessed at first hand their effectiveness as a tool against Herod. We said we’d await them here and might join them at a later date if their report is positive.”

Andrew then says what has been in the minds of many of us.

“What about your families here? You’ve all got children as well as wives. Your fields are lying fallow and your trades are being neglected, or they would be if we hadn’t stepped into your shoes.”

“Brothers, we thank you for looking after our families’ welfare. We knew we could trust you to do that. If we are to get revenge on that scheming tyrant, we have to make sacrifices. We were sure of your support - through your actions enabling us to fight, you are joining our campaign.”

“I’m not sure all your wives see it like that.”

“They will when we are able to show them how we’ve avenged their losses and violations.”

I’m very doubtful about this. Perhaps the women will be glad enough to have their husbands back and will say nothing to disturb that pleasure. Perhaps the men will see only what they want to see, and still revelling in their experiences, will not pick up the body language of their women. We shall see. I’m sure Jude, for one, will not leave us again. Now he knows Salome is pregnant and the child will be born within the next few weeks, he’ll not let her down, I’m sure he’ll see it that way.”

We drift back to our labour. I go to tend Jude’s field as it seems only right to allow him a few more hours back with his family before he resumes his duties.

Life in the village slowly returns to normal. Rachel is now three months old and Ruth seems to be coping, although I know she finds her a constant reminder of that wretched day. I try to be as supportive as I can, at least no-one mentions the fact that she might not be mine. It is common knowledge in the village that there are at least three children who are the product of the rapes. Initially there was some hostility and shaming, then the mothers received constant pity and commiseration which must, I think, have been even worse for them. I’ll shield Ruth from all this, if it’s the last thing I’ll do.

Salome’s baby daughter was born last week. She’s named her Naomi after our ancestor who returned home from exile to her native land, part in celebration of Jude’s homecoming, but I think as some, perhaps unconscious, recognition of the return to a semblance of normality in our village after the last few months’ trauma. Salome is clearly more relaxed as she believes her husband will not leave her again now. Jude is a little disappointed I think, I get the feeling that he was anticipating another son, perhaps in some measure to stand in for his murdered child. He doesn’t say as much, but I just sense something is still missing.

It will be the Passover Festival next week and there’s speculation that Joshua and James will try to return at this special time. Their wives are making preparations, they are optimists. I’m dubious, Galilee is a long way away, at least four days’ journey. Ruth has been collecting the ingredients for the Passover meal and we plan to make our way with others from the village to the Temple in Jerusalem for the main ceremony.

When we assemble for the pilgrimage journey, I’m astonished to see Joshua and James among our number. Apparently they returned late last night especially for the festival, fulfilling the faith of their families. They are now mixing with us, telling us excitedly of the life they have been leading with the ‘siccarii’, the nationalist group they have been linked with. Apparently they call themselves by the name of ‘Zealots’ also. They are saying that they have joined one of the bands which is operating in the Golan hills to the east of Genneseret, the large Galilean inland sea, and that they’ve been involved in a couple of actions against Herod’s soldiers, although they seem a little vague about the outcome. Their enthusiasm seems infectious, both of them are trying to persuade Matthaeus and the others who went initially to Jericho to join them in the north. When the women hear the drift of the conversations, they are horrified. They believed that their men had come back for good, not to return taking others with them.

Salome has been left at home with the new baby and Simon, it is too soon for her to venture the walk into Jerusalem and the crowds they will encounter there. If she were to hear them arguing with Jude and realise that he’d not rejected the argument straight away, she’d be furious. I take Jude aside and caution him against considering returning with Joshua and James, and he promises me he’ll think carefully about it, but I can see, to my surprise, that he’s tempted.

When the Passover period is behind us, the arguments rage in the village every day. Joshua and James have found out that some of the women raped by Herod’s men have given birth to babies, and this has only increased their determination to take up the fight once more.

This morning I met Matthaeus, with Joshua, his son, walking to the synagogue. After our usual greetings, I asked him what his plans were, how soon he intended to leave us again.

“We go tomorrow, Nathan. You should come with us. You have young Benjamin to avenge, I’d have thought you would have been one of the first to join us.”

“Ruth needs me here. She has a new baby to care for and she needs my support. And some of us have to care for the families left behind.”

“I respect your point of view even if I don’t agree with it. Some of us have to carry the fight on. At least give me your blessing.”

“That I gladly do. And moreover, you have this young man here,” I say, “to look after your wife and other son. Joshua here must be of age by now.”

And that is when the boy breaks in and says in no uncertain fashion that he is joining his father. I’m certain that Matthaeus will quickly dampen the boy’s ardour, but I’m astounded when he seems to encourage him.

“The boy is of age as you say,” says Matthaeus, “he seeks revenge too - his younger brother was slaughtered with the rest and he is not lacking in physique or the requisite skills. What he doesn’t know, he’ll soon learn.”

The boy picks up some stones and slings them at birds with his catapult, to demonstrate his aggression and expertise.

“See, I’m like the boy David fighting Goliath,” he boasts. “Jehovah will be with us, we’ll kill the scum and avenge our brothers.”

There is no doubt that Joshua has the spirit and physique, in fact many of us have been concerned for some time that he is too aggressive with the other boys, too boisterous in his playing and some mothers complain that he’ll cause serious injury to another child soon. Perhaps I should be glad that he is leaving us, yet I cannot really accept Matthaeus’ encouragement to the boy as he has only just reached his majority. Thirteen is too young for roughing it with experienced rebels twice his age.

I’m still thinking about Joshua and Matthaeus’ decision to let him join the Zealots. Is it really the father’s decision or is he too influenced by the boy’s bravado? Many in the village have wished for years that Matthaeus would take a stronger line with him, but people have been afraid to speak out because Matthaeus is a scribe, an educated man, who will always find a slick answer to any hint of scepticism or inferred criticism.

I tell Ruth of the conversation I’ve just had with Matthaeus and the fact that he’s allowing his son to join him in Galilee. Ruth’s first reaction is good riddance to the boy, she’s never liked him, although she agrees with me that Matthaeus is foolhardy to let the boy go. Then she looks at me with those soulful dark eyes of hers, and puts her hands on both my shoulders, staring me in the face.

“Nathan, my husband, I want you to make a promise to me. Don’t ever leave me, don’t you ever decide to join the other men in their vengeance. I need you here to support me. Will you promise me that?”

She has caught me off guard, it is not that I have ever thought seriously of joining the other men, but I’m hesitant at declaring myself so unambiguously, especially as many of us are still arguing about the issues and I have tried to remain rational and balanced. But Ruth persists, I cannot fudge this direct demand being made of me, I have to declare my intention or face a wife who will always be uncertain, untrusting. I make up my mind, for Ruth is here in front of me, and she needs me, I can see that.

“Yes, Ruth, my love, I promise that I will not leave you to join a rebel group. I will stay here and support you and our daughter, Rachel.”

Somehow it seems right to include Rachel in the promise. If I cannot leave to avenge my firstborn, then somehow I need to make a promise to the child I have adopted, at least in my own mind. I need to own her in my heart as well.

Ruth hears me out and breathes a sigh of relief. Then she hugs me. As we are still clasped together, suddenly a cry comes from the cradle. Little Rachel is awake and hungry, although in my mind she is crying out to be included in the centre of our family. I break away from Ruth and pick the child up. She stops her crying and looks at me as if she understands. I hand her to Ruth and put my arms around them both.

“She is ours. Forget her origin, Ruth. God has placed her in our care. We must not let her down.”

Ruth looks at the child, then at me, and tears are rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes, Nathan, I will try, you know I will.”

We both acknowledge the feelings we have had about the girl, our doubts, our misgivings, our feelings of betrayal by this child, and we solemnly declare to each other that she shall be our own, that she will be as valued as any future child of ours.

“You will be a better father, Nathan, than that brute of a soldier would have been. I pray that she finds in you a father that teaches her mercy and forgiveness, so that she grows up to make us both proud.”

“So be it. Love her, Ruth, cuddle her in your arms, let her eyes feast upon yours, smile at her, do not weep. Do not let the sadness of her creation be reflected in your eyes when you look at her. Together we’ll overcome the past, and face with her the future.”

Matthaeus was as good as his word. He joined Joshua and James and took his son Joshua with him. Saul went as well and a couple of men who had not joined the first time. And to my great surprise and Salome’s great anger, Jude went too. I cannot fathom that man, I thought he’d reasoned it out that his place was here, the defence of his family by supporting them was his best response to Herod’s deeds, but the man is not rational. He lets James and Joshua sway his emotions too much, they play on his quickness to anger, and play down his feelings of loyalty to his wife, they make him think it would be cowardly and shaming to refuse to go a second time. So once more I’m sweating to plant Jude’s crops for him and seeking to mollify a seething Salome. Ruth spends time with her and their new baby girl. It is at least more company for her and the grief and anger of others takes her out of her own remaining feelings of distress, she is too busy trying to coax Salome and young Simon who misses his father dreadfully.

Just as our family happiness seems to be returning at last, there is a scandal that threatens to destroy another family. James, one of the sheep farmers in the village, and who has been away in Galilee again the past few weeks, has a young wife, Rhoda, who also lost her firstborn in the massacre. The girl, for she is little more than that, was already near a breakdown from that loss, but has found the departure of her husband too much to bear. Her mother has tried to comfort her, but rumour has it that another has taken advantage of the distress of the girl and offered a little too much sympathy. A youth, Clodis, has been looking after James’ sheep and has been seen going to and from Rhoda’s house with great frequency, and tongues were already wagging, before it became obvious that Rhoda was carrying a child.

When challenged, she broke down and confessed her shame. She could do little else for James had been in Galilee for his first stay there when the baby must have been conceived. Here was a major problem, because James was once more in the north and hard to contact. The girl was confined to her mother’s home, while the men of the village argued over her fate with the rabbis. The youth, Clodis, was interrogated, and under such pressure, eventually admitted his guilt. He was flogged and expelled from Bethlehem. Rhoda was meanwhile showing, she must have been at least five months pregnant. Her initial attempts to argue that James was the father were ridiculed and some men were for stoning her to death as could be justified under the law. Others tempered their condemnation of her with a little mercy, arguing that the murder of her son, followed by the desertion of her husband, albeit with good cause, was too much for the girl to bear and she should be treated with some sympathy.

I was of this latter school of thought. I’d argued this strongly at the debate in the synagogue and the rabbis, although normally the first to uphold the law, were, I believe, more in sympathy with my point of view. In any case, they argued, we are more sophisticated than this, we must apply the law but temper justice with mercy. We are not like some barbarians in rural villages who throw rocks first and think afterwards.

The problem, however, was what action we should take in the absence of the husband. Should we turn the girl and her baby, when born, out of the village? Should he divorce her by proxy? We resolved to try to get a message to the man and summon him urgently back to Bethlehem. Meanwhile Rhoda was to remain in the home of her mother and not show her face in the village until her husband returned and decided her fate.

That action was put into effect, but it was a good three months later before James eventually returned home, after having been found the other side of the Jordan river. By then Rhoda was approaching the time for delivery of the child. James was naturally furious and was initially inclined to condemn the girl to the punishment our law allows. But several of us prevailed upon him to temper his outrage and in the end he agreed that he would just divorce the girl and abandon her and the baby to the protection of the mother, whose whole family would now be shamed. Once the legalities had been conducted by the priest, James returned to Galilee, metaphorically shaking the dust of Bethlehem from his feet. His anger would be taken out on Herod’s soldiers, or that was his intent. We heard that a few days after his departure a baby girl had been born to Rhoda.

I am in the village square this morning when I hear the shocking news. Rhoda has murdered the baby and killed herself. Apparently, since the birth, the girl had been weeping continuously and would not feed the child properly. The baby had therefore cried incessantly and when Rhoda’s mother had tried to instil some sense into the girl, she had just grabbed the baby and left the house. They had let her go, assuming she’d return when she came to her senses, but she’d stayed out all night and her father and brother only searched for her in the morning. They apparently found the baby first, strangled, lifeless, on a rocky outcrop at the edge of the village. Then they found her body at the foot of the crag, she’d thrown herself off the edge and had died before they got to the scene.

Sounds of grief are echoing from Rhoda’s mother’s house and a group of women are gathered outside participating in her distress, because they can be seen to sympathise with her mother now the shamed girl is dead. I come across them as I’m making my way home to Ruth. I feel the embarrassed guilt of the village. We have hounded that poor girl to her fate. Some will try to justify their actions and the attitude of the crowd, but in the end we cannot deny our part in the tragedy.

When I tell Ruth what has happened, she bursts into tears, even though Rhoda was not close to her.

“That poor girl, she can’t have been more than fifteen, left alone to cope with the grief of losing her firstborn, and then vulnerable to the attentions of that rascal, Clodis.”

“I think it’s a tragedy too. Many will condemn her, but we are too quick to criticise, she was ostracised by the other women and no-one tried to stop them.”

“Perhaps I should have said something, befriended her, visited her at her mother’s home.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Ruth, she was not a particular friend of yours, why should you have been the one to show her kindness?”

“Well, someone should have done.”

“There’ll be many feeling guilty now. Too late unfortunately. Some will still condemn, call her a murderess and good riddance.”

“I’ll visit her mother. When the wailing is over and she’s buried, then I’ll show her mother that we do not all hold her shame as reason to ignore the rest of the family. They need us specially now.”

“You’re a good woman, Ruth.”

I look at her and am glad that the woman I married has such feelings and is not hard like some of the older self-righteous wives. The person who should have her death on his conscience is James. His decision to join the siccarii always seemed a dubious one to me, experience has shown it to be disastrous. What sort of revenge is this on Herod? All he has achieved is death and disgrace in his own family. Paying back violence with violence, whatever it says in the scriptures read by the rabbis, it doesn’t make sense. It just seems to breed further violence.

There is an argument on whether it is necessary to tell James what has transpired. After all, he divorced the girl, it could be maintained that he had no further interest in her fate. What would the news of her death and that of the baby achieve? Would it give him a guilty conscience? If so, what was the point of that? Should we not let him continue his war of justice against Herod unprompted by doubts?

Then weeks later fresh news reaches us. Herod is dead. The tyrant, that brute, has finally succumbed. They say his last days were spent in torment, great physical pain that drove him out of his mind. So justice was being administered by the Lord, not by mere mortals after all. We should send a messenger to James and Joshua and the others who went back with them. Perhaps they’ll come home now, their vengeance completed, no need for further action.

“No need,” says Mordecai when the suggestion is put to him. “They’ll find out soon enough. The intelligence systems of the siccarii will soon discover the truth. They find out the movements of Herod’s troops easily enough, they’ll soon discover that Herod himself is dead. Then they’ll be home, you’ll see.”

Salome and the other wives speak optimistically about their men’s return, they believe it is over, the horror of the last few months has been finally laid to rest. They are waiting in anticipation.