“What did you say to Yehudi?” whispered Shimeon, as the disciples walked along the path to Gethsemane.

     “If I told you even one of the words I spoke, you would gather the stones at your feet to hurl them at me.” replied Yeshua testily, “Then fire would leap from the stone and burn you, Shimeon!”

     Shimeon was hurt by the vehemence of his Yeshua’s words, and slowed his walk. Yeshua stopped and turned to face him.

     “I am sorry, brother!” Yeshua said sympathetically. “I cannot tell you what I told Yehudi. I love you both but and oath is an oath, and I cannot break it, least of all to my friends.”

     The rest of the party had rounded a turn in the street and the Yakov stood alone with Yahn in the gathering darkness. “These are angry times, Yakov,” said Yahn, “Only a saint could rise above them, and I am no saint.”

     “Nor I,” answered Yakov. “I was just curious.”

     “You are a little jealous of Yeshua, Yakov,” said Yahn, “I have seen it. I understand you are the older brother and think that it is your duty to lead us.”

     “I cannot deny it!” said Yakov defensively.

     Yahn put an arm around Yakov. “Brother, you have looked after us all and provided for us since our father Yusef died, and we are all grateful for that, but God has not touched you in the same way that he has touched Yeshua, and you should be thankful for that!”

     The two men resumed their walk.

     “Thankful, how could I be thankful?”

     “You remember the tales of our childhood?” asked Yehudi, “The tale of the Suffering Just One?”

     “Of course! Did not Yahja have Yeshua read the scroll of Isaiah to you and I before Herod’s men took him?”

     “But you did not finish the reading. Do you remember the last verses?”

     “The Lord said,” recited Yakov, “It was my will that he should suffer; his death was a sacrifice to bring forgiveness. He shall see his descendants; he will live a long life, and through him my purpose will succeed.”

     “A long life,” interjected Yehudi, “You think Yeshua will live a long life? How can he when half of Galilee has proclaimed him the Messiah? We all know that the Suffering Just One will die at the hands of his enemies. And here we are in the nest of vipers! Yeshua is no longer a cautious man! It is though Yahja, our cousin has taken possession of our brother! He is not the cautious, timid man he once was!”

     As they rounded the corner, they spotted a Roman patrol passing at the end of the narrow street, and stepped back into the shadows of a recessed doorway until the patrol clanked past.

     “You know as well as I do,” continued Yahn as they began to walk again, “if the shepherd fails the flock they will turn him into the Goat of Azaxel and cast him into the Abyss. The sins of the people will be taken care of; the Lamb will suffer for the sins of the flock. The ledger will be balanced. Crops will be harvested and the gods will not punish a single one for their sins. The slate is wiped clean for another year.’

     “Everyone will happily, and sinfully, go about their business for another year, without fear that the Eloi would strike them down at any moment because as a flock they have given one of their own as a sacrifice.”

     “Yeshua will not be the sacrificial lamb,” replied Yakov testily. He raised his arm pointing to the Temple Mount looming above them. “The tradition demands the best, the first-born, and unblemished animals be sacrificed. A second or third born would be an insult to the Adonai, not a highly regarded gift. How can Yeshua be that sacrifice? I am the first born!”

     “So, you would sacrifice yourself for Yeshua?” asked Yahn.

     “I would!” declared Yakov defiantly.

     Yehudi hesitated.

     As he stood before the gates to the palace of the High Priest, Yehudi felt his strength fading. He stepped back from the entrance and faded into the shadows. He crouched on the ground, his back against a stone wall and gritted his teeth, ashamed of his fear.

     He had been fully prepared to turn Yeshua over to the Judean priests, but now the bond of kinship seemed stronger than the abstraction of religious beliefs. Yeshua and he were Galileans, and had more in common with each other than with the Southerners, and the priests of the Temple had rewritten the Scriptures. Could he trust that the scrolls were actually the work of God?

     He knew instantly he could not betray Yeshua. Until this moment, he truly believed that Yeshua was The Messiah, but now he knew he had been wrong. There was no Messiah. There would be no angels descending from Heaven to save God’s Chosen People. The covenant was a lie. The Scriptures were a lie. He cursed himself for abandoning the ways of his Israelite forbearers. The old ways were the best. He had been a fool to put his faith in Yahweh, the god of the Judeans.

     He spat on the ground and stood up determined to return to Mount Gerizim to seek forgiveness as soon as possible. Suddenly an arm reached out and grasped him around the neck. Two palace guards wrestled him to the ground, and Yehudi fought back desperately.

     Miri panted for breath as she rounded the corner. Ahead of her, the Palace of The High Priest glowed in torchlight. She gasped as she saw Yehudi struggling as he was dragged through the palace gates by the guards.

     She was too late!

     She turned to leave and ran into the shield of a Roman soldier. She staggered and looked up. A full cohort surrounded her. One of the soldiers held her up.

     “Miriam, my dear!” a voice exclaimed in insincere obsequiousness, “How nice to see you!”

     Miri recognized the corpulent form of Justus, the chief administrator for Herodias and Antipas as he pushed aside the curtain of the divan carried by eight slaves.

     Breathless, Miri curtsied to the minister. “Justus,” she said politely in greeting.

     “I was on my way to see Herod, but I must say that seeing you is far more preferable to beholding Antipas’ countenance. Where are you off to at this hour on your own?”

     Miriam hesitated, unable to compose her chaotic thoughts.

     “I am out for a walk!” she blurted, not too convincingly.

     “Indeed,” replied Justus slowly. She knew he knew she was a fugitive. To take her to the court of the Hrodians would mean her death! “Then permit me to accompany you.” he said, “A woman as beautiful as yourself should not be walking at this hour unattended.” He smiled. “I would never be able to show my face to your father Yusef, should you be waylaid by criminals.”

     Justus was playing with her. He knew of her association with Yeshua, but the deference he was required to show to the daughter of one of Yerushalayim’s prominent businessmen, fugitive or not, did not allow him to bring her secrets out into the open. So he resorted to the sniping of allusion and insinuation.

     “Thank you,” replied Miri, “But I was on my way to Bethany. I have family waiting there for me. It is out of your way entirely!”

     “Nonsense!” declared Justus, “You will travel with me to Herod’s palace, and I shall send the divan with you! My men are well rested, and the extra exercise will do them good! They are stoics, these bearers!” he declared, hitting one of them across the head with his fan.

     “You see!” he said, pleased with the lack of reaction from the slave, “They are perfectly tamed, and will not bite!”

     Justus motioned with his fan, and two soldiers lifted Miri onto the divan. She sat silently facing Justus, the curtain closed, and the procession continued on its way.

     Yakov and Yahn continued on their way, but they had taken a wrong turn in the dark. Though it was a full moon, the light did not reach into the narrow covered streets in which they found themselves, and the streets were not laid out in that section of the Sacred City in straight lines or right angles. They were lost. They finally got their bearings and realized they were near the Pool of Shiloam. they hurried to the gate, for soon the city gates would be closed, and they would have no way of returning to their camp at Bethany.

     “Lucky for you, the gates are open late for Pesach!” grumbled the guard as the arrived by the watchtower. “another few short breaths and you would have been locked in!” declared the guard.

     Neither Yakov Nor Yahn said anything to him, but hurried on their way, for they knew Yeshua was in the habit of resting in the Garden of Gethsemane before climbing the Mount of Olives to return to Bethany.

     Alone in Gethsemane, his eyes welled with tears, Yeshua knelt and bowed his head to the ground. “Forgive me, Father, Miri has spoken truly to me and I am afraid. I know that I am not the Messiah. I am only a man before you. A carpenter from Galilee. Be with me, My Father, and if it is possible, take this cup of torment from me! My will is yours, your will be done!”

     His prayer to Yahweh finished, he walked between the olive trees. He could hear the loud snoring of Shimeon, and he smiled. Even in his sleep, he thundered. The four men lay sleeping like children where he had left them. These are my brothers, my flock, he thought as he shook his head at their innocence. He closed his eyes and saw a vision of a small child in Miri’s arms that warmed him and brought him comfort.

     The distant clank of metal caught his attention. Across the Kidron, a line of lamps weaved its way from the temple by the Eastern Gate.

     “Wake up!” he hissed, shaking Shimeon, then Adam, and Yahn, “Wake up!”

     The wine had made them groggy, and the four men roused slowly.

     “Wha-?” mumbled Peter. The sound of marching feet on the bridge cleared his head instantly. “Kittim!”

     “We must flee!” cried Yahn, as he and Yakov came running up from the Kidron Valley, “Come, we can escape over the Mount of Olives! We can hide in the tombs, until they pass!”

     “I cannot,” declared Yeshua. “To do so, would break my oath to the Power Above.”

     “You must!” cried Adam, “There is a time for oaths later! What good is it for you to be arrested? Do you think the Kittim will respect you because of your oath? They will crucify you before breakfast!”

     “I must stay,” Yeshua stated calmly, “They are coming for me. Look!”

     He pointed to the small procession. Bound by chains, Yehudi walked between two soldiers, his head bowed.

     “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be handed over to the power of the idolaters! Get up! Let us go and meet them!”

     “You’re mad! They will arrest us all!” hissed Yahn.

     “If we do not go now, they will proceed to Bethany and arrest our brethren there, and torture them until they too betray Yeshua,” countered Yakov. “Would you have the blood of your sisters and brothers on your hands, so that you might escape? I will go with you, Yeshua, and meet the heathens on the high road!”

     “So will I!” declared Shimeon.

     “Kefar!” said Yeshua, “You are my rock!” He stared at his friend through the darkness. “You must return to Bethany and warn the others! Tell them to leave! The Lord will protect me.”

     “I cannot leave you!”

     “You must! You know the way to Yericho in the darkness and you will lead the others there. Don’t worry, Shimeon. We shall see each other again. I have done nothing wrong and The Power will protect me!”

     The phalanx of soldiers advanced into the garden and the men with Yeshua slipped into the shadows. He stood alone facing the armed band, his gaze fixed on Yehudi, whose face showed a mass of purple bruises.

     When the group was only a few feet away, Yehudi broke free from his captor, and embraced Yeshua.

     “Yeshua...”

     Yehudi staggered as one of the soldiers clubbed him from behind.

     “Yeshua of Nazareth?” the captain of the guard demanded.

     “You know that I am. Did I not see you under the porticoes, when I turned over the tables of the moneychangers?”

     The captain cleared his throat. “I am commanded by Caiaphas to bring you before the Templars to answer charges of treason.”

     “Did you have to come with swords and clubs to capture me as though I were an outlaw? Day after day I was available to you while I talked in the Temple, and you didn’t arrest me.”

     “Yeshua!”

     The men all turned in the direction of the voice, Bejamin ran full pelt into the clearing in the grove of olives, then came to a skidding halt as he saw the circle of soldiers. He yelled in fright and began scrambling on all fours to get away.

     “Seize him!” shouted the captain of the guard.

     The grove erupted into a confusion of men scurrying in the darkness. Yeshua deftly sidestepped a soldier rushing toward little Benjamin and tripped him, twisting the short sword from the man’s hand. He struck the soldier with a blow from the blunt end of the hilt and turned to Yehudi.

     “Master, I...” began Yehudi, his eyes wide with fear.

     Yeshua raised the sword and brought it down twice with all his might and Yehudi crouched before him. The blade rang out as the chains holding Yehudi came apart.

     “Run!” Yeshua hissed at Yehudi.

     A soldier dove onto Yeshua’s back, tackling him around the neck. Yehudi moved forward to help Yeshua, but two more soldiers seized Yeshua, and Yehudi backed away quickly, regaining his feet.

     “Run!” screamed Yeshua, and Yehudi turned tail and fled.

     Held firmly by the first soldier, Yeshua winced as one of the others smashed his club across his temple. A momentary bright flash of blue light burnt across his brain and he caught a brief glance as Benjamin slipped out from his tunic held by one of the soldiers and ran naked into the darkness.

     The soldier turned to his comrades and held up the cloth in amazement. And the last thing Yeshua heard was the echo of laughter as he slipped into unconsciousness.

     “I must go back!” Shimeon panted. He stopped running and bent over, resting his hands on his knees. “I can’t leave Yeshua.”

     The others stopped running. Yakov looked back towards Shimeon. “Shimeon, what good will that do? You are only one man. Better that we return with the crowds tomorrow. Then we can slip into the city and ask around. You will have no way to get into the Bira without being arrested yourself!”

     “I can’t leave him!” cried Shimeon vehemently. He straightened and turned back to face Jerusalem.

     “Shimeon-” began Yahn as he reached for his friend. But it was too late. Shimeon was running back towards the East Gate as fast as his huge legs would take him.

     Benjamin ran blindly through the darkness on the Mount of Olives, all sense of direction erased by fear and panic. He burst out onto the high road and slammed into a huge dark form running in the opposite direction. He screamed despite having the breath knocked out of him. Huge hands lifted him into the air and he screamed hysterically. Through the cacophony of his own panic, he heard his name being called.

     “Shimeon!” he cried, “They’ve taken Yeshua to the Palace of the High Priest! We must save him!”

     The big fisherman gently lowered Benjamin to the ground.

     “Where are your clothes?” he asked incredulously, then turned away, removing his own robe. “Put this on.” Barnabus wrapped the woolen robe about him.

     “Thank God, he hasn’t been taken to The Bira!” Shimeon, “Perhaps I can still save him! Benjamin, you must return to Bethany and awaken Miri. She is the only one who can save him! Tell her I have gone into Yerushalayim to find Yeshua and will see what I can do there!”

     Benjamin ran a few steps up the road toward Bethany then turned.

     “Shimeon!” he whispered. Shimeon turned and Benjamin threw his robe back at him. “It will be cold in Jerusalem!”

     Shimeon slowed as he came into sight of the city walls. He decided that The Lion’s Gate would be too close to the scene of Yeshua’s arrest, and turned north through the olive groves along the Kidron Valley and approached the city through the Damascus Gate.

     The large gate was closed and he walked at a steady pace towards the entranceway.

     “Halt!” commanded a voice in Greek from the entrance. Coals glowed in a brazier, and two of Herod’s men lurked in the shadows, the points of their lances shimmering in the red light.

     Shimeon answered Aramaic. He hoped that the news of Yeshua’s arrest was not common knowledge. He knew Herod and the high priests would not want the news to leak out until they had obtained a confession, signed, sealed and delivered.

     “My name is Shimeon of Galilee”

     “Pah! Another Galilean! You know the one who turned out the money changers this week?”

     “No,” lied Shimeon.

     “Thought you were thick as thieves, you Northerners!”

     Shimeon was silent.

     “Take off your robe, ” commanded one of the soldiers.

     Shimeon obeyed.

     “Throw it down!”

     The soldier padded the robe with his foot. The other soldier held his lance pointed at Shimeon’s heart. “No baggage,” he commented to Shimeon.

     “I have friends nearby the City of David.”

     “Not those Essenes down by Shit Gate?” the soldier asked disgustedly. “They give me the creeps. You’re not an Essene, are you?”

     “No,” answered Shimeon, “Do I look like an Essene?”

     “You’re a Nazarene, I’ll bet. No Money. Long Hair.” He feinted with the lance towards Shimeon.

     “What? A Nazarene?” asked Shimeon, “I’m a fisherman.”

     The guard checking Shimeon’s cloak laughed. “I knew I could smell fish. You need a bath, fisherman!”

     “Yes, sir.”

     “Yes, sir,” mimicked the guard, “A very polite fisherman.”

     The guards were bored with him. And they were also both very much smaller than Shimeon. He had been obsequious enough for their taste.

     “On you way, fisherman!”

     As he bent down to pick up his robe, one of the guards pricked him in the ass with his lance. Shimeon took a deep breath. “Lord, help me,” he muttered under his breath.

     “What was that, fisherman?” asked the guard pricking him again.

     “Thank you for helping me,” growled Shimeon through gritting teeth, as he shrugged into his robe.

     “You’re most welcome, fisherman,” replied the soldier with mock politeness. “Have a nice day.”

     The two guards broke into laughter, and returned to the brazier.

     Shimeon skirted the wall to the west of the Antonia fortress. He knew the Kittim would be locked within the bowels of the fortress, but he had no desire to run into an undercover patrol at this time of the night. He walked swiftly along the old city wall. He passed the rise of Golgotha glancing at the crosses standing empty in the moonlight. He saw three bodies still hung from the day before. No one had come to claim them yet. He thought it strange that they were hanging so long after sunset and so close to Pesach. The Kittim would cut them down in the morning. He passed through the shadow of the towers, Phaesael and Miriam, and veered well to the East of Herod’s palace.

     Shimeon slipped from the shadows of the walls of the High Priest’s Palace. There he sat down with the guards, keeping himself warm by their fire, occasionally glancing through the portico into the palace courtyard. The chief priests and members of the Council were gathered in groups, trying to find some evidence against Yeshua, but there seemed to be some disagreement amongst them. They could not find any witnesses as to the actions of Yeshua. Unfortunately for them, there were lies about the Nazarene, but their stories were not convincing and didn’t agree. One group advocated prosecuting him concerning his statement about tearing down the temple. One of their number was saying, “We heard him say that he will tear down the Temple which men have made, and after three days will build one that is not made by men.”

     The High Priest Caiaphas stood up in front of all of them all and questioned Yeshua, “Have you no answer to the accusation they bring against you?”

     Blindfolded, Yeshua stood silently and would not speak a word. Again Caiaphas questioned him. “Are you the Messiah, the blessed Son of God?”

     “I am what I am.” said Yeshua without fear.

     This answer infuriated Caiaphas, who tore at his robes and said, “We don’t need these witnesses! This is blasphemy! He uses the scriptures to mock us! We must charge him with treason! He has damaged Temple property! He has claimed to be a liberator! The Messiah! He is no better than a common thief!”

     A younger scribe stepped forward. Caiaphas frowned imperiously at him. “You holiness,” the scribe began by way of introduction, “Saul of Tarsus. We cannot bring charges against him for treason. Treason is a civil matter and must be dealt with by Herod.”

     “Very well, then, produce our witnesses and we shall take him to Herod tonight!” They all voted against him. He was guilty and should be put to death. But how could they do it?

     Some of them began to taunt Yeshua. They spit on him and hit him. He was blindfolded and led off to the palace where Antipas had come up to the Sacred City to lead the rites in the Temple.

     A guard slapped him.

      “Guess who hit you?” he asked, and prodded Yeshua again with a lance.

     Shimeon was still down in the courtyard when one of the High Priest’s servant girls came by. When she saw Shimeon warming himself, she looked straight at him and said, “You were with Yeshua of Nazareth.”

     Shimeon denied it. “I don’t know... I don’t understand what you are talking about,” he answered and went out into the passageway. The servant girl followed him and stared intently into Shimeon’s face, then said to the guards, “He is one of them!”

     A guard stared at him, “You must be one of them! You can’t deny that you are from Galilee.”

     Shimeon faced them. “I am telling the truth! May God strike me if I am not! I do not know the man you are talking about!”

     The guard lowered his lance.

     Shimeon turned and fled. The guard chased him only as far as the entrance and stared after Shimeon running down the street.

     “Damn Galilean!” he spat on the ground and returned to the fire.

     Out of sight from the palace, Shimeon stopped to catch his breath. As he stood gasping against the wall, a cock crowed in the distance. And his panting faltered and he broke down and cried.

     Yehudi sat alone in the darkness, his palms pressed tightly to his forehead and his fingers digging into the crown of his skull.

     He cursed himself for betraying Yeshua.

     He slid to his knees and bowed his head until it touched the rocky ground.

     “El,” he whispered, “Tonight I am calling you by name because I need your help. You must save Yeshua. He is needed here.”

     The wind whispered through the olive grove and tugged at his robe. Yehudi sat up quickly, realizing that only he could save Yeshua from the heathens. He must do it the old way. He must sacrifice to El in the manner of the old Galilean patriarchs so that Yeshua would be spared. He knew no ordinary ram or bullock would be enough to deter God from his course and that he must be as brave as Abraham. He had no son.

     “I only have my own life to offer you,” he said to El.

     Yehudi slowly drew his dagger from its sheath.

     “So be it!”