and Caiaphas want nothing more than to be rid of him. Jesus could easily start a revolt.”
“I cannot believe that’s his wish,” I said. My husband was a resister to Rome, but not a violent one. He was not like my brother.
“I wondered about his intention,” Lazarus said. “He seemed to purposely provoke the authorities. But that same night, he stood right here where I’m standing now and told his disciples that whatever happened they would not take up the sword. Judas challenged him, saying, ‘How do you expect to free us from Rome without a fight? You speak of love—how will that rid us of Rome?’ I know he’s your brother, Ana, but he was angry, almost hostile.”
“Judas is a Zealot,” I said. “The Romans murdered his father and sent his mother into slavery. His whole life has been about seeking vengeance.” Even as I said this, I marveled that I made excuses for him. He meant to overthrow the Romans even if he had to hand Jesus over to spark a revolution. There would never be enough excuses for that. Fury surged into my chest. I said, “How did Jesus answer him?”
“He did so sternly. He said, ‘I’ve spoken, Judas.’ That silenced him.”
For a moment I considered pulling Judas’s letter from my travel pouch and reading it to them, but it would do nothing but alarm them more.
Lazarus rested his hand on Martha’s shoulder. He said, “This morning before Jesus left for Jerusalem, I implored him to spend Passover in a quiet fashion and to keep hidden. He agreed. If the authorities seek to arrest him, they will have to find him first.”
They would have no trouble finding him if Judas intervened to help them. The thought lifted me to my feet. “Should we not go and find him ourselves?”
“Go to Jerusalem? Now?” said Martha.
“Mary said he sometimes prays in the Garden of Gethsemane,” I said. “We might find him there.”
“It’s almost the second watch of the night,” she argued.
Lavi had been slumped against the wall, nearly invisible in the shadows of the house, but he stepped forward now. “I will go with you.”
“It’s foolish to venture into the valley at this hour,” Lazarus said. “It seems Jesus has decided to spend the night on the hillside. He’ll return in the morning.”
Mary took my arm. “Come, you’re weary. Let’s get you to bed. Martha prepared you a fresh mat in Tabitha’s room.”
“I’ll leave at daybreak,” I said, sending Lavi a grateful smile, then let myself be led away, stopping to retrieve Jesus’s cloak. I would sleep in the folds of it.
ii.
I woke late, well past dawn. I felt for Jesus’s cloak beside me on the mat, then sat up and slipped it over my tunic.
Moving across the room, I glanced at Tabitha, trying not to wake her. I bent over the basin and splashed a palmful of water across my face, then delved through my few belongings until I found the little pouch with the red thread. I wrapped it about my left wrist, laboring to knot it with my other hand.
Lavi was waiting for me in the courtyard. If he wondered at my wearing Jesus’s mantle, he didn’t say so. Nor did he mention the hour. He handed me a piece of bread and a hunk of cheese, which I ate hungrily.
“How will we find him?” Lavi whispered.
“We’ll begin at the Garden of Gethsemane. Perhaps he slept there.”
“Do you know where this garden is?”
“It’s at the foot of the Mount of Olives. Last night Tabitha told me of a path that leads there from the village.”
I must’ve looked racked with worry, for he gave me a searching look. “Are you all right, sister?”
Sister. The word caused me to think of Judas. I didn’t know how to go on being sister to him. I wanted to answer Lavi that I was well and he shouldn’t worry, but I sensed there was some great portending darkness out there.