Chapter Thirty-Eight

Judah

With grateful hearts Leah and I went back to Modein and wiped the dust from the furnishings in our little house. We settled into a routine, and while Leah made cheese and prepared for the coming child, I plowed the hard ground to ready it for planting.

Yet as much as I wanted to focus on my responsibilities at home, my eyes kept drifting toward the northern horizon, where Antiochus had to be fuming at the news of Seron’s defeat. He would soon respond . . . but how?

Unless Philander sent another message, I had no way of knowing. That Gentile had been Adonai’s gift to us. Every night I asked HaShem to bless the scribe, and to remind him that should he ever need one, he had a friend in Israel. I did not dare write Philander for fear of risking his life, so I sent an anonymous gift with a traveling merchant—a cheese so large two men were needed to carry it.

As I tended the goats and worked the fields, I studied every rider who passed our village and met every traveler who stopped at our well. Some came only to drink or enjoy a meal at one of our homes, while others came to visit relatives and share news from Jerusalem or other settlements.

I was horrified to discover that people were coming to Modein to see me. “I never thought I’d meet the Hammerhead,” one man said as he pumped my hand with enthusiasm. “The story of how you chased the Seleucids down the mountain has spread throughout Israel. And I have to see the silver sword you use in battle.”

“It’s not silver,” I muttered, flushing. “It’s iron.”

My words did nothing to cool his eagerness.

One afternoon a stranger in fine clothing stopped by the well and proceeded to water his stallion. At first I thought he might be another Israelite in search of the Hammerhead, but the horse was too fine for a Jewish settler. While my brothers gathered around to admire the beast, the rider sought me out.

“Are you the one they call Judah Maccabaeus?”

Cautiously I nodded.

The stranger smiled. “I have something, and I was instructed to place it in your hands and no one else’s.” The man handed me a heavy parchment wrapped with cord and sealed with wax.

When I did not immediately break it open, the stranger lifted a brow. “Aren’t you going to read it?”

“Later.” I took a Greek coin from my belt and gave it to him. “That is for you—and please tell the sender, blessed be he, that we will always be in his debt.”

The man thanked me and turned away, then halted. “By the way,” he said, smiling over his shoulder, “my friend Philander says I am to thank you for the very large and most delicious cheese.”

I found Simon in his house, where he sat on a bench bouncing young Judas on his knee. Morit was grinding grain at the table, and wee Johanan, the firstborn, lay asleep beneath the bench, his head pillowed on his hands.

I gestured to the child. “Does he always sleep on the floor?”

“When he’s tired, he’ll sleep anywhere.” Simon grinned and offered me the baby. “Take a turn, will you? My knee is aching.”

Flustered, I handed him the parchment, then took the infant. “I’m sure it’s news from Philander. Will you read it?”

The relaxed expression vanished from Simon’s face as he accepted the scroll. “You could read it yourself, you know,” he said, breaking the seal.

“I might miss something important. I’ll feel better if you read it.”

Simon removed the cord and unfurled a sheaf of parchments.

“‘Greetings to my friends in Judea, particularly Judah, Simon, Johanan, Eleazar, and Jonathan,’” he read. “‘May this letter find you in peace and health, and may your God continue to hold you in the palm of His hand.’”

Simon looked at me over the top of the page. “Your friend lives a dangerous life. What if someone had stolen this letter from the messenger? Our names are here.”

I shrugged. “Who in the king’s court knows our names? Read on.”

“He certainly had a great deal of faith in his courier. Anyone would know these are Hebrew names. Surely someone might wonder why a Seleucid scribe is writing a group of Hebrews.”

I shrugged. “Philander is a cautious sort. Please.”

Simon lowered his head and continued. “‘News of your happy event has reached the king’s court. I’m sure you can imagine how he received the report. He sorrows over the loss of glory he should have won, and he is especially sorrowful over the loss of Judean taxes. In the past few weeks, however, he has turned his attention to the temple at Parthia, which he plans to visit in the hope of refilling his treasury.’”

“He’s going to rob that temple as surely as he robbed ours. I almost feel sorry for the Parthians.”

Simon glared. “If you don’t stop interrupting, you can read this letter yourself.”

I pressed my lips together.

“‘The king,’” Simon continued, “‘is busy preparing to travel. He has appointed Lysias, one of his generals, as guardian of his son and heir, and he has charged three generals with the task of subduing Judea. I have recently written requests for the royal treasury to feed and maintain forty thousand foot soldiers and seven thousand horses, all bound for Judea. Those figures are indisputable. As they march south, they hope to pick up additional fighters from Syria and the Philistine lands.’”

My blood chilled. Would those three generals bring their huge armies from three different directions? Our army was not large enough to station defenders in three different locations. And how would we know from which direction they would come?

Simon slowed, his voice becoming more thoughtful. “‘So certain are these generals of success that they are allowing merchants to follow the military caravans,’” he read. “‘The merchants have been provided with gold and silver to feed the Hebrew slaves they hope to acquire, and wagonloads of fetters to place on the slaves’ limbs.’”

Morit stopped grinding and stepped forward, her eyes huge. “They mean to make slaves of us? We will never be slaves, not again!”

“Do not worry, love,” Simon told her. He jerked his head toward the baby in my arms. “As long as I live and breathe, my sons will never wear chains.”

He skimmed the remaining pages. “The rest is largely ceremonial, but he does mention that he has a son who reminds him of you. Oh, and here he says the first army will march south along the plain of Sharon and camp near Emmaus. They were making preparations as he wrote.”

“We have no time to waste.” I tugged on my beard as my thoughts churned. So much to do! We would regroup in the wilderness, send scouts to look for the approaching armies, and plan our strategy. The Seleucids probably hoped to corral us like wild animals, and if we faced pressure from the Samaritans in the north and the Seleucids in the south, we could be trapped—but not with HaShem on our side.

“How long, do you think, until the armies arrive?” I asked.

Simon frowned. “If the rider took five days to bring this letter, and the army was about to depart . . .” The thin line of his mouth stretched tight, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “An army travels more slowly than a single rider, so perhaps three days. Or four. Or five, I don’t know.” His face went grim. “This is serious, Judah. They are bringing a huge—”

“I heard the numbers—and you must not repeat them, not to anyone. I will not allow the men to be frightened by mere numbers.”

I gave him the baby and took the parchments from him, not wanting word to get out before I could prepare the army. The naysayers who lacked faith in HaShem could spread discouragement like a disease, and I would not have it.

Not this time, not ever.