Reuben

CHAPTER ONE

Reuben jostled his way through the milling crowd on Temple Mount.  He wasn’t particularly on the hunt for good pickings but the little dagger strapped to his wrist was always handy to severe a purse thong and to detach a good purse from its unsuspecting owner.  He wasn’t greedy......just took enough for him and Esther to be able to keep their bellies full and live comfortably......and to put a little aside for the leaner periods when the city wasn’t so full of naïve pilgrims.

He hadn’t always been a cut-purse.  He’d lived quite a sheltered life in Magdala on the north-western shores of the Galilee.  As owner and captain of a fishing boat, his father made a good living, earning more than most of the lazier boat owners who put captains in charge of their boats and then stayed at home, making their living off someone else’s labour.  And when the catch was particularly large, his mother added to their income by helping out down at the salting works, where the fish were dried and preserved before being sent to the major cities across the Empire to become delicacies on the tables of the wealthy.

He’d done all the things the other boys had done – climbed trees; run through the village streets pretending to be Zealots fighting to free Israel from the grip of the Romans; splashed in the shallow waters on the edge of the lake.  As a small boy, he’d struggled to keep up with the bigger boys and had often been left behind as they chased each other through the fields surrounding the village.  When that happened, he would give up the chase and go and seek the company of little Sarah, the daughter of Rachel, the village seamstress.  Only slightly younger than him, she understood what it was like to be left behind by the bigger children.  She was always willing to play his games – even when she was the Roman soldier being killed by the Zealot.  The friendship that sprang up between the two toddlers grew stronger as they grew older and Sarah was often seen at his side as they ran with the boys of the village.  In the heat of the day, when running became too great an effort, they would sit under a shady tree, talking about life, their families, their dreams, their ambitions – all the things kids had chatted about down through the ages.  And they talked about Yahweh.  Raised by godly parents, Yahweh was never very far from their thoughts and even in their most hectic escapades, His promise of a Messiah was never far from their immediate thinking.

Twelve was a significant age for any Jewish boy.  It was the age at which he was considered to be a man and his Bar mitzvah signalled his passing from boyhood into manhood.  Shortly after his twelfth birthday, Reuben’s parents organised his Bar mitzvah.  The celebration for family and friends was arranged to take place in Magdala but his father took him and his brother, Matthias, up to the Temple in Jerusalem for the official ceremony.

The trip had been wonderful!  The excitement and anticipation of the occasion buoyed him up on the journey up to the Holy City.  The actual ceremony in the Temple precincts was incredible.  He would never forget the thrill of holding the holy scroll in his hands as he read aloud from the Torah as a man for the first time.  Nor would he forget the blessing the priest pronounced over him at the end of the ceremony - that great blessing that Moses had given to the people hundreds of years earlier in the Wilderness:

The Lord bless you and keep you;

The Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you;

The Lord turn His face toward you and give you peace

The trip home was made in the warm spiritual haze that had descended on him during the ceremony and that lifted only occasionally during the journey when he wondered exactly what had happened to make him a man.  He thought that he should feel different....more manly.  But he didn’t.  He was still the old Reuben who enjoyed running as fast as he could just because he could, who wrestled with Matthias because he usually won and who loved playing practical jokes on his father because he was so gullible and because they all had such a good laugh afterwards.  And yet, the priest had told him that he was now a man, so he was sure he should feel different.

He was still wondering about it while the village was preparing for his Bar mitzvah celebration.  People were congratulating him on becoming a man but he felt like a fraud because he was still Reuben – unchanged and confused. 

But some things were changing – subtly, almost imperceptibly over the next couple of years change crept in.  The men of the village started treating him differently – more like one of them than like the young boy he had been before he went up to Jerusalem.  The younger women treated him with a respect that he had never encountered before and the older women eyed him as a prospective husband for their daughters.  And he and Sarah spent less time together – not because they wanted it that way but because it wasn’t seemly for a man to dally with a young woman and both his father and her mother made sure that they didn’t spend time alone together.

The atmosphere in Magdala changed.  In fact, the atmosphere throughout Galilee underwent a radical change.  An itinerant preacher created a stir in nearby Capernaum when he clashed head-on with the Pharisees and the teachers of the Law.  He healed the sick – even on the Sabbath – was friends with tax collectors and outcasts of society and even told sinners that their sins were forgiven.  Word spread like wild fire and soon folk from all over Galilee were flocking to see him.  Reuben wanted to join them but his father forbad it.

I don’t want my family put out of the synagogue because of some homeless blasphemer, he told his sons.  You will not go seeking the sensationalism he stirs up amongst the spectators.

The Torah commanded children to honour their parents.  Yahweh would be displeased if Reuben disobeyed his father, so he didn’t  join his friends as they raced from one town to another, soaking up the excitement that surrounded this unusual man.  Instead, he relied on the smatterings he gleaned from his sporadic conversations with Sarah, whose mother wasn’t as scared of the rabbis as his father was and who sometimes allowed her daughter to go and listen to the man.

And Reuben’s responsibilities within the family also changed.  Times of play were curtailed as he was expected to get involved in manly labour.  As the son of a boat owner it was tacitly accepted that he would help his father with the fish.  That was part of the problem – the fish.  He couldn’t stand fish.  What an anomaly......the son of a fisherman who hated fish!  He hated the sight of them, flapping out their last few minutes of life, trapped in his father’s nets.  He loathed the task of cleaning and gutting them, with their scales getting stuck in the folds of his tunic and under his finger nails.  He couldn’t stand the smell of them that assaulted his nostrils, overpowering all the other interesting aromas that pervaded his village.  Worst of all, he was revolted by the taste.  Grilled on the coals, broiled, baked in a husk of clay.  It didn’t matter how his mother cooked them, he hated the taste and ate as little as possible.  At dinner time, he always made sure that the family dog was sitting beside him so that he could slip as much as possible out of his bowl and into the dog’s mouth.  As the oldest son, he was expected to take over from his father.  That was the way it was done in Magdala.  His father had taken over the boat and the business from his grandfather and he would, naturally, take over from his father once he was married and settled.

That was the other part of the problem – marriage.  At fifteen, his parents had taken him to meet the bride they had picked out for him.  He had always dreamed of marrying Sarah – sweet, pretty Sarah who had been his constant playmate through their childhood.  Her father had been a fisherman like his father was.  He had drowned in a violent storm on the lake and Rachel, his widow, had turned her hand to the only thing she knew that could earn her a living – sewing for the villagers.

His parents knew about his feelings for Sarah but they didn’t approve of him marrying the daughter of a poor widow who struggled to eke out a living and often relied on the good hearts of the village folk to feed her children.  It would be a backward step in village society, not a step up.  So they chose a more suitable girl for him – one from a neighbouring village; one who was a distant cousin of some sort; one who came with a sizeable dowry.

Miriam was presentable enough but she was quiet and shy.  She didn’t look him in the eye like Sarah did or laugh with him or even talk to him.  Throughout their meeting – probably the only one until the wedding – she hadn’t really looked at him and she never said a word.  When he complained to his parents about it, he was told that she was doing what was good and right.....what protocol demanded.

The first night back in Magdala after the betrothal was not a pleasant one.  He’d lain wide awake late into the night.  No matter how hard he willed himself to sleep, sleep escaped him.  His mind churned with comparisons of the two girls who had suddenly become a major part of his life – Sarah, whom he loved.....at least he thought he loved – and Miriam whom he hardly knew.  Sarah was pretty.  Miriam was plain.  Sarah was sunny and full of laughter.  Miriam seemed morose.  Sarah chatted freely with him about all sorts of things.  Miriam hadn’t said a single word during their meeting.  Sarah’s father was dead.  Miriam’s father was an important figure in his village.  Sarah was almost penniless.  Miriam came with a sizeable dowry.  There was the crux of the matter – her father and her dowry.  That was what his parents were looking at.  What he thought and felt didn’t matter.

Eventually, he stood up, stepped over his brother who was sleeping next to him, unlatched the door and let himself out into the cool night air.  The moon was shining onto the lake, creating little sparkles that flashed across the slightly choppy surface of the water.  There would probably be a storm later but for now, everything was peaceful – far more peaceful than Reuben’s mind.  Sitting on the grass near the water’s edge, he allowed the gentle breeze to ruffle his hair and to take some of the heat out of his face.

The moonlight on the water had a mesmerising effect on him and he did something that he couldn’t recall having done before.  He spoke to Yahweh – directly; not through a priest.  He didn’t know whether it was right or not; whether Yahweh would listen or strike him dead for his effrontery.  After all, who was he, a mere man, to talk directly to the God of Heaven?  But he had to tell someone and if Yahweh did strike him dead, it would solve his problem.  So he poured out his heart to the God of his fathers and at last, his mind became peaceful; so peaceful that he didn’t notice his father sitting down beside him.

What’s troubling you, my son?

Although he was startled when he registered his father’s presence, the gentleness of tone and the safety of the dark encouraged him to open his heart and share a little of it with his father.

I don’t know how to be a husband, he said in a half whisper.

None of us do in the beginning, his father assured him. But we learn as we go along.  I’m still learning and your mother and I have been married for sixteen years.

The conversation that followed was frank and open – although Reuben didn’t dare to mention Sarah and what he felt for her – and by the time they walked back through the sleeping village, there was a new understanding between the two men.

Things went better after that – at least Reuben’s father thought they did.  Reuben wasn’t so sure about that.  Life suddenly became busy.  His father had made it clear that he needed to prepare a home for his new bride – one he could bring her back to when it was completed and ready for her.  In the tradition of the village, this took the form of an extra room added onto the family house – the house he, as the eldest son, would inherit one day.  He didn’t want the room to detract from the existing house.  It had to be perfect; to look as if it had always been a part of the building, not a lean-to that had been added on as an afterthought.  Every afternoon for a week, he walked through the village, looking at the other houses.  Jethro’s attempt to add a room onto his family home was a bit of a disaster.  He’d never been very practical and it showed in the room he had built.  Reuben was sure that one of the Galilee storms would be too strong for the room to be able to withstand it and it would tumble down, burying Jethro and his wife underneath a heap of clay.  Nathan’s building was much better.  He’d helped Nathan build the room he and his wife lived in, so he knew the amount of trouble Nathan had taken to make it perfect – or as close to perfect as he could.  That’s what he wanted.....something that was perfect; something he could be proud of and that would make the village esteem him more.  Over the course of the week, he thought and planned a lot, sharing his ideas with his father and working through the advice and suggestions his father offered. And after a week, he started building the room.  In the early hours of the morning, he would go out in the boat with his father.  Back on the shore, he would sort the fish and then clean the nets while his father took the fish up to the marketplace.  When the nets were packed neatly back into the boat, he would head back home for breakfast.  He would linger over breakfast for as long as he could but eventually he would have to set to work on building the room.  As he built, the dread increased.  Once the roof was on, the window was in and the walls were plastered, he’d have to go and fetch Miriam and bring her home.

In desperation, he devised a plan to slow things down.  Every night, he would lie quietly until the whole house was asleep.  Then he would get up, slip outside and break down most of what he had built during the day.  Things worked well for a few days and he started to relax a little, confident that he could at least delay the evil day for a while.  And then, his father caught him.  He didn’t hear him come out of the house and had no idea how long he stood watching him.  It was only when the palm of his father’s hard, work-worn hand connected with the side of his head that he realised that he was there.  That was the last time his father beat him.  He didn’t utter a sound as the blows rained down on him and only sank to the floor when the beating stopped.  He spent the rest of the night there – on the floor of the room he was building with no roof over his head.

He didn’t try breaking down his building again and the room rose to roof height.  His father helped him put on the roof.  The two of them had hardly spoken since the night of the beating and they worked in silence, making sure that the roof was well sealed and would provide complete protection against the Galilee weather.  Jacob, the village carpenter, helped him hang the door and the window shutters and the room was complete.  He moved his sleeping mat and a few items of furniture his mother had given him into the room and spent the night on his own for the first time in his life.  He missed the warmth of his brother lying next to him and knew as he lay in the room on his own that he was moving inexorably towards becoming a married man......and he didn’t like the prospect.

Over breakfast the next morning, his father told his brother to go to Miriam’s parents to tell them that the bridegroom was coming and would be there before the end of the week.  Reuben’s stomach tightened into a hard knot and he couldn’t swallow his food.  The day he dreaded was around the corner and he could do nothing about it.....or could he?

When he went to bed that night, he did not go to sleep.  He forced himself to stay awake, listening to the sounds of the village as it settled down for the night.  Around midnight, when all was quiet and he was sure that the family was sleeping, he got up and got dressed.  His father had paid him a little from the proceeds of each catch of fish he had sold in the market.  It hadn’t been much but his mother had encouraged him to save it for when he was married and might need it for important things.  She had sewn him a money belt in which to keep it and he had kept the belt rolled up in his sleeping mat during the day and slept with it under his head at night.  Over the years, it had built up to a comfortable amount – enough to keep him for a while.  He tied the money belt firmly around his stomach under his tunic, unlatched the door of his room and stepped out into the night. 

He would have liked to have said goodbye to Sarah but knew it would be unwise.  She would want to know where he was going and what he was going to do and he didn’t have answers for her.  Talking to her and trying to convince her that he was doing the right thing would waste time – time which he didn’t have.  He needed to be as far away from the village as possible before his father called him to take the boat out and discovered that he wasn’t in his room. 

It was full moon, so he had to move cautiously as he made his way through the village.  If anyone saw him and raised the alarm, he’d be trapped.  The beating he’d get from his father didn’t bother him as much as fetching Miriam did, so he slipped quickly and carefully from shadow to shadow.  Once he was out of the village, he moved quickly along the path that ran westward up the hill towards Cana.  He’d been to Cana once to deliver some fish to a friend of his father.  He wasn’t entirely sure of the way but the moonlight came to his aid, throwing light onto the well-worn path so that he could see where he was going.  Climbing consistently, he settled into a comfortable steady pace which he kept up for most of what was left of the night.  His climb was uneventful except for the odd occasion when he startled and was startled by some nocturnal creature that had strayed too close to the path.  Twice, he stopped to catch his breath but, wanting to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible, he didn’t allow himself to rest for too long.

As dawn inched its way over the eastern hills across the lake, he turned away from the path and headed for a dense clump of bush that would not only keep him out of sight of anyone walking along the path but would also provide shelter from the sun in the heat of the day.  Pushing his way into the middle of it, he lay down and sank, almost immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.

THE SUN WAS PAST ITS zenith when thirst woke him.  He hadn’t brought any water with him and he couldn’t hear the sound of running water nearby.  Peering through the bushes, he could see the water of the lake sparkling in the sunlight below him and knew that, sooner or later, he would have to go down to its shores to slake his thirst.  The quiet path of the night before had become quite busy and not wanting to come across anyone from the village who might be out looking for him, he decided to endure the thirst a little longer and to stay where he was for a while.  He was hungry too.  He’d eaten nothing since the previous evening and he was ravenous.  He would even have eaten a piece of his mother’s fish if it had been offered to him.  Leaving the immediate cover of the bushes, he made his way cautiously over to a nearby fig tree and pulled off some of the fruit.  With his back resting against the tree’s trunk, he ate his fill and then gave some thought to what he should do.  The only thing he knew was fishing.  He was strong and his father’s training had made him a good fisherman.  He was confident that he could get work over on the eastern shore of Galilee or even down at the southern end.  The problem was that the lake wasn’t all that big and the major fish salting and drying works was at Magdala.  It wouldn’t take long for his father to find out that he was still on the lake and to come looking for him.  The thought of what would happen when he found him made him shudder.  He would have to leave the lake area completely and find some other way of earning a living.

He still had rosy memories of his Bar mitzvah ceremony in Jerusalem – Yahweh’s chosen city.  He’d be closer to Yahweh there.  There was no water near the city so he wouldn’t be able to fish but, if he was closer to Yahweh, perhaps He’d see his problem and provide him with some other kind of work.  The more he thought about it, the more attractive the prospect of going to Jerusalem became.

The decision to head for Jerusalem brought another dilemma.  Did he continue up over the hill to Cana and on through Samaria or did he head back to Galilee and follow the Jordan down towards Jericho?  He wasn’t too sure about going through Samaria.  He hadn’t heard good things about the Samaritans.  His father called them a bastard nation – neither Jew nor Gentile; a nation that had resulted from intermarriage amongst the people that the Assyrians had imported into the region after their conquest of Israel’s Northern Kingdom.  They were despised by the Jews and despised the Jews in return.  While he’d heard a few reports of Galileans experiencing acts of kindness at the hands of Samaritans, he’d heard far more stories of unpleasant treatment and even violence by them. On the other hand, heading back down to the lake increased the risk of him encountering someone from Magdala, or even worse, coming face to face with his father.

The sweetness of the fruit he had eaten made up his mind for him.  It had intensified his thirst and he knew he had to get down to the lake’s water very soon.  If he followed the course of the Jordan, he wouldn’t have this thirst problem – at least not until he had to head up over the mountains behind Jericho.  By then, he was sure he would have a jar or a skin to carry water in and thirst would no longer be a problem.

Making his way back to the path, he headed cautiously back down the hill.  The path that stretched out in front of him headed straight into Magdala and knew he would have to leave it soon or get caught by one of the villagers.  Just as he was about to veer off into untrodden terrain, he came across a small path that branched off to the right.  It seemed to be heading down to the water, so he followed it at a slightly less cautious pace than the one at which he’d been travelling on the main path.  It was dusk when he finally reached the shores of Galilee and knelt down to drink.  He stayed on his knees for a long time and when he finally stood up, his belly felt bloated from all the water he had drunk.  Satiated, he made his way back up to the road that ran along the shore of the lake and turned south towards Tiberias, a Roman town, detested by his father and the one place where he was unlikely to look for him.

Darkness was rapidly descending on Galilee and he was forced to go at a slower pace than he wanted to.  He couldn’t see the road too well and had to move cautiously to avoid the risk of stumbling and injuring himself.  It was a good hour before the moon rose high enough to shed its light on the road but when it did, he broke into a comfortable jog that steadily carried him away from Magdala and the nightmare of marriage to a girl he didn’t even know.  In the distance, he could see the faint twinkle of burning lamps and guessed that it must come from Tiberias.  The town didn’t seem too far away and he guessed that he would reach it just before morning.

IT WAS STILL DARK WHEN he judged that he was about a mile from Tiberias.  He didn’t want to enter the town in the dark.  If anyone saw him, they might take him for a thief and have him arrested and he had no intention of spending even one day in a Roman jail.  Moving off the path, he lay down on a patch of grass that was already damp with dew and went to sleep.

Hey, you!!  Wake up!!  Come here!!

Before he even opened his eyes, Reuben knew instinctively that the owner of the voice was shouting at him.  He looked around him as he sat up.  He’d slept longer than he had wanted to and the day was quite advanced already.  A fair number of people were moving along the path both into and out of the nearby town.

You!!  Yes, you!! Come here.

The owner of the voice was a Roman soldier standing in the centre of the path, hands on his hips and a heavy-looking pack on the ground at his feet.

Come here!  Carry my pack into town for me!

Reuben knew the law.  He knew that if a soldier told him to carry his pack, he had to do it - only for a mile - but he had to do it.  He stood up, walked over to the soldier and lifted the pack up onto his shoulders.  It was as heavy as it looked.  He wasn’t a weakling.  Through the years of working the nets with his father he had developed a physique that many men would envy but, even so, he nearly collapsed under the weight of the pack.  The soldier helped him balance the weight across both shoulders and then walked off towards the town with Reuben following doggedly in his footsteps.

REUBEN WAS SURE HE had walked the required mile and was about to dump his load unceremoniously, when the soldier stopped outside the open door of a house. 

In here, he said peremptorily and Reuben obeyed.

Once inside, the soldier helped him get the pack down to the floor.  Drawing himself up in all his Jewish pride, he was about to stalk out of the house, when the soldier put a restraining hand on his arm.

Wait.  Are you hungry?  Would you like something to eat?

Reuben knew that Jewish law forbad him to eat at the table of a Gentile but if truth be told, he was hungry – very hungry.  All he had eaten in two days was the handful of figs he had picked off the tree the previous afternoon.  He hoped Yahweh would forgive him for breaking the law a little.

Yes please, he muttered.

Ushering Reuben through to the kitchen, the soldier gave orders to an elderly lady.

Rebecca, this young man has done me a singular service today.  Please give him something to eat.....and pack him some bread and fruit to take with him on his journey.

As the soldier left the room, Rebecca pointed to a stool in the corner.

Sit over there, she said.  Then you won’t get in my way while I’m working.

Reuben did as he was told and let the sounds and smells of the kitchen wash over him as he waited.  It wasn’t long before Rebecca handed him an earthen plate containing freshly baked bread, goat’s cheese and some figs.  For a while she watched as he wolfed down the food and then said:

You’re really hungry, aren’t you?  Haven’t eaten properly for a couple of days, I’d guess.  Where are you from?

Magdala, muttered Reuben, his mouth full of bread.

I know the place, she cried.  I come from near there.  My cousin’s child is betrothed to a boy from there.

Warning bells sounded in Reuben’s head and he was ready for the next question when it came.

"Perhaps you know my cousin’s child...or her fiancé.  What’s your name?

Benjamin, he muttered.  Benjamin BarJacob.  My father is the village carpenter.

My cousin’s betrothed is Reuben....can’t remember his father’s name.  Do you know him?

No, he lied.  Don’t know anyone called Reuben....but then, there are a lot of people in Magdala that I don’t know.

Rebecca was satisfied with his answer and bustled about the kitchen, making sure that the food she was preparing wasn’t burning and that everything was in its proper place.

She chatted away as she worked and obviously didn’t expect Reuben to reply as she didn’t pause long enough for him to utter one syllable, let alone a whole word.

When he’d finished eating, she gave him a cup of cold water and wrapped some bread, cheese and fruit in a cloth and handed him the bundle.

Where are you heading, son? she asked as she let him out the back door.

The Temple, he muttered.

Ahhhh!  Say a prayer for me when you get there.  And be careful.  There are a lot of wicked men along the way.

Unnerved by the close encounter with a member of Miriam’s family, he hurried through the town and onto the open road that led to the southern end of Lake Galilee.  Taking note of Rebecca’s warning, he scanned the folk he passed, looking for potential travelling companions.  His first attempt to link up with someone wasn’t at all successful.  He saw a young man walking next to a donkey on which a young woman was perched precariously.  From behind, Reuben got the impression that the woman wasn’t very comfortable and that it wouldn’t be long before she fell off the moving animal.  Increasing his pace, he caught up with them and walked alongside them in silence for a few minutes.  The man, who couldn’t have been much older that Reuben, gave him a few suspicious side-long glances and eventually spoke to him.

What do you want?

Someone to walk with, Reuben told him.  I’m going down to the Temple and it’s dangerous to walk this stretch of the road alone.

Well, you can’t walk with us.

Why not? asked Reuben, a little taken aback.

I don’t know you.  You might kill me and ravish my wife, the young man said rather agitatedly.  Go away.

Reuben did as he was told and dropped back, allowing the man and his wife to go ahead of him.  When he judged that he had allowed them to get a reasonable distance ahead of him, he settled back into his comfortable pace, keeping them in sight.  He didn’t know why he did it because he was sure of one thing.  If he did encounter any trouble, this couple would most certainly not turn back to help him.

It wasn’t long before his initial impression was proved correct.  The woman lost her balance and with a shriek, toppled off the donkey and landed on her back in the dust.  He chuckled to himself as he watched a comedy of errors unfold in front of him.  The man looked panic-stricken and was frozen to the spot for a few seconds.  Then the woman’s screams spurred him into action and he bustled around the donkey to get to his wife.  In the process, his sandal caught in the edge of her robe and he tripped.  Desperately trying to stop himself from falling on top of her, he grabbed at the donkey, delivering a hefty but unintentional slap on its flank.  This startled the donkey, which took off at a gallop, leaving the man and his wife lying in the dust at the side of the road.

Reuben didn’t offer to help the couple.  He crossed over the road and walked past on the other side.

HIS SECOND ATTEMPT at finding travelling companions was much more successful.  Ahead of him, he saw a sizeable group of people heading south.  The men were walking in front of a few women, mounted on donkeys and a few children were scampering along behind the women.  By the time he caught up with them, he had decided who the leader of the party was and headed straight for him.  Explaining where he was going, he asked for permission to join the group.

Of course you may, was the warm-hearted response.  Joshua!  Come over here.

In response to the call, a young man hurried across to the leader.

Yes, Abba?

Joshua, this is Benjamin.  Look after him.  He’s going to be travelling with us for a while.

CHAPTER TWO

Jerusalem at last!  It had taken a long time to get there – longer than it had taken when he came up for his Bar mitzvah.  Admittedly, it had only been him, his father and his brother travelling then.  This time, he had joined a larger family group.  There were five children and the adults had travelled at a pace that didn’t put too much strain on them. They played along the way, ran, laughed, got up to mischief.  It was a big adventure for them.  It was only for Reuben that it was a flight.  He was the only refugee needing to put as much distance as possible between his family and himself......and it seemed to take forever to do that.

He had travelled well with the group; had joined the men in their conversations over the evening meal, most of which centred around the itinerant preacher who was still creating such a stir in Galilee; had taken his turn at the watch fire at night; bought his food along the way; become reasonably good friends with Joshua but he had never been able to let his guard down and relax completely.  He always had to be vigilant – to make sure that none of his travelling companions discovered that he came from Magdala and that his real name was