can he?”
“Patrick,” I called after him, “don’t worry. I’ll get this straightened out. I’ll tell Adrianna your wedding is just postponed for a bit.”
“Postponed is right,” the decurion mocked. “I hear the legion’s going campaigning against the Arabs next week. Maybe he can wave good-bye to his sweetheart as he goes away.”
I rode north toward Galilee, leaving a household of mourners behind in Bethany. It was almost like death. Patrick was taken before the completion of the house and the wedding. All felt the ultimate loss for Samson, Delilah, and Adrianna.
My actions were tempered by the still vivid memory of Porthos’s death. I was convinced there was no resisting our oppressors by force. If Patrick was to be saved, the answer lay with those we knew in places of influence.
I could not think of anyone but Marcus Longinus. The centurion was now suspect and assigned to duty far from Jerusalem because of his favorable sympathies toward Jesus. Even so, he was still honored and well respected among the rank and file of the legionaries.
His post in Capernaum was a journey of many days. When I arrived, I was aware Patrick could already be on the way to a military camp on the border of Parthia.
It was almost sunset, the beginning of Sabbath, when I arrived at the military barracks of legionaries lead by Marcus Longinus.
The Galilee outpost was established at the caravansary occupying the crossroads of the caravan route. Westward lay the port city of Caesarea Maritima, built by Herod the Great to honor Augustus Caesar.
Two sentries at the gate stopped me from riding in. “Halt!”
Remembering to dismount before I addressed them, I stepped off my mare.
“What’s your business?” demanded a burly Syrian mercenary.
“I have traveled far to speak with Marcus Longinus, your commander.”
The two put their heads together. “Our centurion … is a friend to these Jews,” one muttered.
The Syrian demanded, “What’s your name, then?”
“David ben Lazarus.”
While the Syrian barred my way, the other soldier opened the pedestrian gate and hurried away. Through the portal I glimpsed a half dozen sweaty, unsaddled horses tied at the rail. I heard the clank of hammer upon hot iron coming from the blacksmith shop.
The smell of roasting pork and baking bread was in the air as the cooks prepared supper for the company. Off-duty soldiers roared and laughed as they played dice. Another honed his short sword and shouted at the stable boys carrying fodder for the livestock.
Minutes passed before Marcus emerged and tersely ordered the sentries to take my horse into the stable to be fed and watered. Marcus and I remained outside the gate. Only when they retreated did Marcus address me.
“Peace be with you,” I said.
“And also with you,” he answered with a question in his eyes. “Friend, is it well with you? With your … family?”
We walked away from the caravansary before I answered. To the west the deep orange ball of the sun melted on the far horizon. Banners of salmon and pink streaked the sky.
“I’ve been riding for days to reach you.”
“Your Sabbath has begun. Shabbat Shalom.”
“Shabbat Shalom.”
“Mary? Is she well?”
“She is well.”
“And Carta?”
“He has become a member of our family.”
His mouth curved in a tight smile of relief. “Why have you come?”
“I need your help … my friend.”
“You have it, if I am able to give it.”
“The officers from the Jerusalem garrison have conscripted Patrick of Verulamium. He belonged to Rome for twelve years. A blacksmith and a barrelmaker. He lost his leg in service and was put on the block. Once he was my slave, as I bought him at auction from the army. He is very useful to me.”
“You freed him?”
“He earned his freedom by helping save my vines from the locusts. He is soon to be married.”
“You say you purchased him, yet you set him free.”
“A good man. A skilled fellow, Patrick. A Briton as you are.”
Marcus rubbed his cheek. “Ah, Lazarus. What you don’t know … Patrick was safe from conscription as long as you bought and paid for him. As long as he belonged to you, they could not conscript him … at least not without paying you his value.”
“His value, slave or free, is incalculable to my business.”
“Surely his fame as a clever fellow got back to the officers in Jerusalem. Herod Antipas and Pilate no doubt asked, how is it that the vineyards of the estate of Lazarus were saved and not the estates of Herod and the sympathizers of Rome?”
“Well, Patrick’s gone. They took him by force,