The coffin was lifted with a jerk. Unprepared for it, I let out a small cry. “You’ll have to stay quieter than that,” Gaius said, his voice sounding far away.
As they carried me outside, I braced for another jolt, but the coffin slid smoothly into the wagon. I couldn’t tell when Pamphile climbed in, maybe she was there already, but I heard the donkey bray and felt the lurch of the cart as we started down the hill.
I closed my eyes so as not to see the coffin’s lid, which was a hand’s breadth from my nose. I listened instead to the rumble of the wagon, then to the muffled singing that began to follow us. Don’t think, don’t think. It will be over soon.
When we made a sharp turn north, the singing receded into the distance and I knew we’d passed the gatehouse and turned onto the road. Moments later, one of the soldiers shouted “Halt!” and the wheels on the cart ground to a stop. The beat of my heart came so hard, I imagined the sound of it streaming out through the air holes. I was afraid to breathe.
The soldier addressed Pamphile. “We were told a man among the Therapeutae died. Where are you taking him?”
It was difficult to hear her answer. “To his family in Alexandria,” I believed she said.
Relief surged through me. I thought we would be waved on now, but the cart didn’t move. The soldiers’ voices drew closer, seeming to move to the back of the cart. A thread of panic began to unravel in me. My eyes flew open, met by the lid of the coffin. I drew a pant and shut them again. Don’t move. Don’t think.
We lingered an interminable time for reasons I could not deduce. Then I heard one of them say, “There’s nothing back here but the coffin.”
Suddenly the wagon staggered forward.
We plodded on and on, jostling along the rutted road for much longer than seemed necessary. Pamphile had been instructed to stop the cart when the soldiers were out of sight, preferably along a lonely stretch, and free me. The heat inside the coffin had concentrated. I took the awl and knocked against the side of the coffin. I didn’t know whether people might be about, but I no longer cared. I forced the end of the awl beneath the lid and attempted to pry it upward, but there was not enough room inside for my arms to lift up or press down. I rapped harder on the side. “Pamphile!” I screamed. “Stop now and free me!”
The wagon traveled on for some minutes more before she brought it to a stop.
I heard the split of wood as she pushed her awl under the lid and wrested the coffin open. There was a dazzling rush of light.
* * *
? ? ?
LAVI AND I SET SAIL for Judea on the fifth of Nisan.
JERUSALEM
BETHANY
30 CE
i.
As Lavi and I arrived outside Jerusalem, the slopes of the Kidron Valley came into view lit with a thousand pilgrim campfires. Funnels of pale smoke drifted across the night sky, thick with the smell of roasted lamb. It was the thirteenth of Nisan. Passover.
I had hoped to reach the home of Lazarus, Mary, and Martha before nightfall, early enough to eat the festival meal with Jesus. I sighed. The meal would be over by now.
Lavi and I had suffered one excruciating delay after another. First, the sea winds deserted us, slowing our ship’s arrival. Then, on foot from Joppa, we had difficulty finding food due to the crowds, forcing us to detour to out-of-the-way villages to buy bread and cheese. We were obstructed for hours in Lydda by Roman soldiers attempting to control the clogged road to Jerusalem. Throughout, I’d practiced in my head what I would say to Judas, reassuring myself he would listen. I was his little sister; he loved me. He’d tried to rescue me from Nathaniel. He’d taken my message to Phasaelis against his own wishes. He would listen and then abandon this madness that would have him betray Jesus.
As I gazed at the hillside, the urgency I felt inside made