Excerpt from Chapter Seven

   All of this was weighing heavily upon the mind of Jude during his detention in the Roman camp. His wounds were healing thanks to the physician provided him by the Romans whose only real concern was keeping him conscious and well for interrogations. His mind now clearing from the fever of the wounds, he again resumed the thoughts that often occupied his mind. Had his heir ship been a mistake? Was there now a circumstance being thrust into the forefront that would alter his right, indeed cause him to lose it?  Would the right of the kingship now revert to his sloppy and irresponsible brother, Joses, who found it better to travel the world than to commit himself to the Torah and the resistance, and who was contrary to the order of the Community? No, that could not be allowed to happen.  Certainly HaShem had the welfare of Israel closer to His heart than that! 
   The sound of a harsh voice of a soldier commanding him to stand brought him out of his contemplations. 
   “On your feet, you vile piece of camel shit,” growled the soldier as he pulled up on Jude’s hair to force him to stand.  Jude‘s hands and feet were still bound and he could not stand well on his own. Two other soldiers took him by the arms and dragged him out of the temporary stockade. As they pulled him across the sand, he could make out the canopy of an officer’s headquarters just ahead. Under the canopy was the Roman Officer who took him prisoner and another soldier who stared at Jude whose face and appearance was still dirty and disheveled from the battle. The second Roman’s eyes widened as he believed he recognized him.  In fact, he mistook him for Joses. 
    “This is the man I saw in Galilee that was pointed out by one of the tax collectors there as instructing the people not to pay the tax to Caesar!” 
   The Roman Officer then studied Jude more closely as the guards brought him to the front of the canopy.
   “Are you certain?” asked the officer. 
   “I remember his face quite well, and his is a match,” replied the soldier. “He seems taller and more robust, but that could be from different clothes.” The soldier walked over and turned Jude so that he could more easily see his face. Satisfied, the Roman pushed him away and to the ground. “Yes, he is the man.”
   Jude and Joses were certainly not identical, and Joses’ shorter stature, an obvious distinction with his slight back deformity, would have been hard to judge from a distance. The only positive way to tell them apart was when they stood side by side. 
   “So, not only are you a killer of Romans, but an insurrectionist against Caesar’s tax,” the officer said with a vile disdain. “This man, alone, killed two of my soldiers,” he said to the other soldier, forming a spitball in his mouth that he spat on Jude’s face. “Put him on his feet before me,” the officer commanded two soldiers who grabbed Jude’s arms and forced him to his feet. “Our information is correct.  You are the leader of the Sicarii, just as I accused you,” he said to Jude.  “You have been very active in Galilee for many years, even when but a boy,” the Roman deduced. Jude did not respond, but looked at the stones on the hill beyond the canopy. The Roman continued, “No, I know you will not answer me.  But, I have a proposal for you. If you agree to talk to me, I will go much easier on you than the professionals that wait for you in Caesarea. I am a practical man.  My only concern is money, and I will receive that as soon as we deliver you to Pilate. I have already sent word of your capture and we are awaiting a unit from Caesarea to assist in your transport.  I will not free you, but I can reduce your suffering.  Talk to me,” his words were like a harlot’s caress. 
   Jude remained silent. The Roman had no other words, but he slowly drank from an ornately adorned cup as the soldiers dragged Jude off to a waiting wagon.  Once the detail was prepared, the Roman Officer mounted a horse and ordered the group forward to Caesarea, about a day’s journey away. All Jude could think of was to pray to HaShem for deliverance.  It would come, and he would not be sure how to receive it. 
   The trip to Caesarea would take Jude through the despised land of Samaria. For the Judeans and Galileans, it was not a friendly or likeable place.  Part of the old northern kingdom of Israel before its destruction many centuries before, Samaria was still anathema to those who saw the inhabitants as either interlopers, remnants of the northern tribes now defunct, or just goyim gentiles. In Jude’s mind, it seemed only proper that if the Romans were to have their center for administration in the land, it may as well be in Samaria. 
   As the guard company with their prisoner entered a narrowing of a small valley, a volley of rocks and boulders struck several of the guards causing them grievous injuries. Hurled by men expert in the use of slings, these projectiles were as deadly as arrows. The arrows came next, striking many of the remaining soldiers in the exposed portions of their bodies as they attempted to organize themselves. Two arrows had found their mark on the Roman Officer who fell from his horse, breaking his neck in the fall. The sudden attack confused the remainder who tried to rally to the origin of the missiles, only to be attacked from their rear they had failed to protect. In a short five minutes it was all over. A group of Zealots had effected Jude’s rescue. All of the Romans were dead or wounded and unarmed.  The Zealot’s surprise and violent attack had caused them only a few minor injuries.  As Jude’s bonds were cut, a familiar, yet strangely out of place voice spoke from the rocks to the south.  It was his brother, Joses. 
   “We may not have much time, Eleazer has spotted another group of kittim approaching,” Joses stated in a tone more commanding than informative. “Collect the weapons of the dead and take what necessities you can carry and follow me.” The Zealots collected all the military hardware they could carry and headed into the rocks with Jude in tow.  He was still too weak to accomplish a flight from the area solely under his own strength. Two of the Zealots placed his arms over their shoulders and allowed him to sit on their crossed hands, a form of a speedy litter effective for short distances. Joses had not yet taken the time to formally address his brother.  The approaching Romans, while not yet aware of the battle, would soon be upon the carnage of the prisoner escort detail. Joses climbed the rocks to the vantage point of the scout who was watching the Roman movement. 
   “They are right there,” Eleazer pointed to the west toward the city of Caesarea. The Roman unit was about ten furlongs away (well over a mile) and was in a march formation moving in a modified column of threes up the grade. By Joses’ estimation, it was likely a century.  While the prison detail was relatively small and manageable for the Zealot team, this Roman force was much too large to even consider a quick hit and run tactic. The other factor was the remnant of the century that Jude and Kefa had battled earlier.  Joses was not sure where the bulk of that century might be.  Joses made his decision. 
   “Too much for us right now.  We had better depart the area and ensure that we can put enough distance between the Romans and us until we can get to safety. Besides, Jude needs care.  He doesn’t appear up to another battle,” Joses smiled at Eleazer who grinned back at him as they moved off the vantage point of the rocks. 
   The raiding party moved swiftly and silently through the terrain, hardly noticing the burden of the injured Jude. Once they reached the crest of the hill, they put Jude in a litter they had brought along to make his transport easier. They were now able to travel quite quickly. At different points along the route, small groups of the party would break off and head in alternate directions to conceal the size and ability of their forces from Roman patrols or the eyes of spies and informants. Joses’ group traveled for several hours until they arrived at their destination, the town of Sychar in Samaria. Jude and Joses had still not spoken to each other. It was now well after dark and the remainder of the band split up just outside of the town so as not to attract attention. Even though it was dangerous for Joses and Jude to be together, Jude still needed medical care. With three other companions, Joses and Jude approached a well-manicured and relatively expansive home on the south side of the town.  There they were greeted at the door by a group of friends who were special to Joses.