The next day, we depart Alexandria on the merchant vessel. The skies are fair and this time of year the winds are in our favor, so the captain brags we should make Caesarea in just three to four days. I smile when I think a direct tube could get you there in under an hour in my time frame.
Although we’re paying passengers, we’re still expected to work. Martha takes turns preparing food in the galley, and I help out by swabbing the deck and helping to mend a spare sail. The sailors are both amused and dumbfounded by how inept Martha and I are at performing such simple tasks.
In the late afternoon, both Martha and I get some time off. I find her sunning herself.
“You did say you wanted a cruise, didn’t you?” I ask.
“This isn’t what I had in mind.”
As she laughs, the hood on her tunic slips down and her golden hair is caught by the breeze. Also caught by the breeze is her toga. Togas are pretty much made to fall off and her leg is exposed nearly to her hip. I can’t help but stare.
“Does the slave girl need to hiss at you again?”
“I’m sorry. I just-”
“I know, Cephas, I’m just teasing. We’ve been in each other’s heads, remember? It’s quite flattering, you know - I mean the fact you were able to reject Jocie, but you’re so attracted to me.”
“It wasn’t just Jocie. I’ve never felt an attraction for anyone like I feel for you. I assume it’s because I’m in love. I want to share my life with you and that means sharing everything, including our bodies.”
“But you won’t, because it’s a sin.”
“That’s right. God created the heavens and the earth; so that means He created sex between a man and a woman too. It’s something He wants us to have, but we have to do it God’s way.”
“You mean we need to be married.”
“Yes, we need to be married.”
“Then I’ll stand here now, before you and God, and declare myself committed to you forever. I’ll become your wife today.”
“I know you would, Martha, and I’d pledge myself to you forever too. But I don’t know if that would make us married in the eyes of God. If we’re going to truly be Christians, then we need more than just a commitment to each other. Bill and Wendy understand. They’ve been committed to each other for decades, and yet they know they’re not married before God. Marriage is more than just making a commitment to someone else. It’s entering into a holy covenant that’s witnessed and sealed by God.”
“I understand, and I’m ready,” Martha says. “So, let’s get married before God.”
“How? In our time marriage didn’t exist and now that we’re here - well - marriage in the sense we know it doesn’t exist here either.”
“If we’re stuck in this time, we’ll just have to go with what we’ve got. Jews and Romans get married, don’t they? Why can’t we do whatever they do? Better yet, we’re on a ship, so let’s have the captain marry us.”
Martha smiles brightly.
“But what they do in this time isn’t a covenant before God.”
People say when I’ve made up my mind on a subject, I tighten my jaw and get a resolute look on my face. Martha sees it and the smile leaves her face instantly. She jumps to her feet.
“I don’t care!”
When Martha yells, the deck hands all turn to watch.
“You brought me here to save your life. You’re not going to get me stuck in the past and keep me as your little slave girl for the rest of my life.”
“But-”
Martha holds up her hand.
“But-”
She hisses at me and the crew laughs, so she turns and hisses at them too.
“If you want a wild slave girl instead of a wife, then you’re going to get a wild slave girl.”
I start to stand.
“Touch me and you’re going into the water,” she says.
The sailors all make way as she stalks to the stern. They don’t understand what she said, but apparently “angry woman” is another universal language.
I sit near the rail and watch the sea slide by. Maybe I should let her throw me into the water.
Into the water. Of course!
I leap to me feet and run to the stern.
“Martha!”
She turns to face me, still angry despite the huge smile on my face. The sailors nudge each other and find places from which to watch.
“What do you want of the slave girl now, oh master?”
“Into the water. That’s the solution.”
“I’m not going into -”
“Oh, yes you are,” I say. “We’re both going into the water to be baptized. After the resurrection, the Apostles start to baptize people in the name of Jesus. We’ll ask one of them to marry us in the name of Jesus.”
“So you’re saying-”
I cut her off with my hand and get down on one knee.
“I’m saying, I’m asking - I’m begging. Martha, will you marry me?”
****
It’s like the fair skies and favorable winds want to share our happiness; so the trip to Caesarea goes even faster than the captain predicted and we make the trip in just a few days. Caesarea is a Roman city through and through, with many Romans walking about in togas and soldiers ensuring everything stays well-ordered and peaceful. I even see a couple of blonde heads, all of which belong to slaves the Romans brought from the north.
Martha and I visit several goldsmiths and sell off the rest of Jocie’s gold cross in pieces, but we decide to hang onto the jewels. We purchase water skins and enough food for a week, but nothing else. Martha thinks we should also arm ourselves with swords, but I convince her an armed blonde woman would raise too many eyebrows. We each find a sturdy staff instead.
We have a decision to make. Will we go overland from Caesarea to Jerusalem, a walk of about one hundred and twenty kilometers through Samaria? Or should we catch a ship to a more southern port, such as Ashdod and cut the walk to about sixty-five kilometers? Samaria is a more dangerous route, because there are often gangs of robbers that lie in wait for travelers. We should only use that route if we can travel with a Roman guard. The sea route is shorter, but has fewer Roman caravans to offer us protection. We sit on a wall overlooking the seaport, discussing the advantages of each plan, when the answer walks right in front of me.
“We’re going the overland route with a Roman caravan.”
“How’d you make the decision?”
“Because that man is Marcus Varius. He’s taking goods from Venice to Jerusalem and will have a Roman guard. I bought this toga from him, and his caravan made the journey without any problems.”
“You’re like having my own personal crystal ball.”
“How much do you know about horses?” I ask. “Can you judge their age and fitness?”
“Sure. There’s a place not far from Capon Springs where I would ride every summer. The owners taught me some basics.”
“Good. We’re going to need to buy a couple that can keep up with the caravan.”
****
The caravan turns out to be much larger than just the wares of Marcus Varius. Marcus’ wagons are just a few among a large shipment of weapons and supplies the Romans are sending to support their troops in Jerusalem. Rumor has it the caravan includes the Roman payroll as well.
Guarding the caravan are two hundred new troops being sent to Pontius Pilate to ensure the region gets no ideas of rebellion. I marvel at the physical strength of these men. They march for ten to twelve hours per day in full armor and packs, with little food or water, and yet, other than the sweat on their faces, none of them will betray even a hint of fatigue. If Martha and I didn’t have horses, we would’ve been left far behind on the first day.
On the second night, the caravan halts and makes camp near a small stream so all the livestock can drink their fill before we push through some drier country. The majority of the soldiers are bivouacked in two camps on either side of the caravan, but others form a loose picket around the wagons to keep out any unwanted visitors.
Sometime after midnight, Martha wakes me.
“Cephas, wake up. Someone is trying to sneak inside the Roman line. Look up the ridge.”
It’s just a few days after the full moon, so there’s a fair amount of light. I watched the Romans set up their positions at dusk and we’re about one hundred meters from the nearest soldier. I see nothing at first, but as I watch along the ridge, I get occasional glimpses of outlines as they’re silhouetted in the moonlight before disappearing behind a boulder or shrub.
“If they’re coming to rob the caravan, they must be insane,” I whisper. “The Romans will slaughter them.”
“Insane? Or desperate?” Martha replies.
It takes the shadows a half an hour to cover the last twenty meters to where I saw the Romans set the guard. I expect to hear someone raise the alarm, but none comes.
By the time the shadowy figures are fifty meters from us, it’s clear there are just three of them. Martha and I are camped near a rough stockade where we tied our horses and the men are aiming for a nearby wagon. They’ll miss us by thirty meters or so.
“What should we do?” Martha asks.
“That wagon is full of weapons. If they watched the caravan come in and saw the Romans eat, they know which wagons have food. They’re not desperate or starving.”
“They’re going to reach the shadow of the wagon. We’re the only ones who can see them now,” Martha says.
I hear her pick up her staff.
“Follow me.”
If we can cross just ten meters of moonlight, we can reach the line of wagons and stay shadowed ourselves. Then we can work along the line until we reach the one being robbed. There’s no way to tell if the robbers have set a lookout. We’ll just have to risk it.
Martha moves as quietly as a cat. Although I’ve come a long way in my training, I still hear the occasional grinding of a rock under my foot or scrape of a stick off my tunic. Nobody else would hear it, but I’m sure Martha does and is planning some additional training in silent operations. We reach the shadows without any indication we’ve been spotted, then move along in a low crouch.
The men are at the second-to-last wagon in the line. I can hear the occasional clink or metallic ring as swords are removed. There are two at the back of the wagon taking the swords. The third is indeed acting as lookout, but his gaze is focused outward, towards the Roman line.
With a yell, Martha leaps forward and her staff takes the one closest to her behind the knees, sweeping him off his feet. I don’t want to be too close to her swinging staff, so I head for the lookout. He turns before I can reach him and I see the glint of a short sword in the moonlight. I have a large advantage in reach, but he holds a deadlier weapon.
He must know time is on my side due to Martha’s yell, but I yell “thieves” in Latin to make sure the alarm is raised. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Martha was unable to sweep the feet out from under her second opponent, but he is limping. The first man has regained his feet and the two of them have cornered her against the wagon. She’s also keeping them at bay only with the longer reach of her staff.
Behind the lookout, I can see torches coming to life as the Romans respond to the alarm. The lookout decides to charge me with his sword raised high, so I block with my staff and hope it doesn’t snap like a twig as his sword crashes down on it. It does snap in two, but saves my life in the process.
With the two halves in my hands, the only thing I can think to do is turn and run straight at one of Martha’s attackers. He never sees me coming, as I hit him in the temple with the heavy piece of wood. I’m running too hard to stop, so I crash into the second man and we both fall to the ground. Martha takes the moment of relief and swings hard at my pursuer, catching him on the wrist of his sword hand, forcing the weapon out of his grip with a clatter.
There’s now shouting among the Romans and the torches are approaching. The would-be robbers have had enough and decide to run for it.
“What’s going on here?” asks a soldier with a torch in one hand and his sword drawn in the other. I recognize him as the ‘squad leader’ who was in charge of the men patrolling the line.
“We caught three men trying to steal the swords from this wagon.”
He looks at the two halves of the broken staff that I still have in white-knuckle grips in my hands and at the pile of swords on the ground behind the wagon. We both look at Martha, who looks like a wild woman with blazing yellow hair and a dirty face. I wonder if she’s going to hiss for good measure, but she doesn’t.
I think he’s going to thank us, but instead he looks worried. He was in charge of the men who allowed the robbers to slip through the line and must fear punishment for the failure in security.
“Of course, when I say we caught them I mean that we accidentally interfered with the trap you laid to catch them in the act. I’m sorry. I’ll explain this all to your superior and ask him to forgive me for my mistake.”
The man smiles with gratitude, but before he can respond, a voice behind him speaks from the dark.
“That should be an interesting tale, as all good lies are.”
He walks into the torchlight. It’s the Centurion.
He looks at me with my broken staff, then he looks with great interest at Martha, who doesn’t flinch in the slightest.
“Did you get her in Gaul?” he asks me.
“Yes, Centurion.”
“Remarkable women, aren’t they?”
“Yes, Centurion.”
“You’re a Roman citizen. What’s your name?”
“I’m called Petrus, Centurion.”
“You’re not one of my soldiers, Petrus. You may call me Antonius.”
Just then a soldier from the line runs up to talk to the squad leader and appears scared when he sees the Centurion.
“We cannot find the three men.”
I’m not sure how, but Martha senses what the man is saying.
“They’re looking too far out,” Martha says. “The one I hit in the leg is limping and is hidden somewhere inside their perimeter.”
The Centurion continues to assess this wild woman.
“What did she say?” he asks.
“She hit one man hard in the leg with her staff and hobbled him. She says you’ll find him hiding inside the line of sentries.”
The Centurion barks some orders that send men scurrying and, within minutes, the soldiers have found the hobbled man. The man I hit in the temple is found hiding among the livestock, but the one with the sore wrist has escaped. The two who were captured are taken to the Roman camp.
“Antonius. About my ‘tale’ that we interfered with a trap, I-”
He cuts me off by raising his hand.
“It’s no crime, Petrus, to have mercy on a young man who made a mistake. It’s how he will learn.”
Antonius sighs.
“Far too many of this lot have not seen battle and need to learn. Explain to him how you caught the robbers, where he failed.”
I turn to the young man.
“Your men were posted in the low spots overlooking the stream. With the moon setting, this gave the robbers long shadows to hide in as they came down that ridge, and made them harder to hear due to the gurgling of the water. From our higher vantage, Martha saw them as they first stepped into the moonlight. Your sentries were well-positioned at dusk, but should have been moved at midnight as the moon moved.”
The young man nods.
“You were a soldier,” Antonius says.
“Actually, Martha is the greater soldier. I’m a simple observer of the world.”
“A slave that thinks and fights like a soldier, and is also so beautiful. Would you sell her to me?”
“No, Antonius. When my business in Jerusalem is over, I intend to free her and marry her.”
“I understand. Please. Come have breakfast with me.”
As he turns to lead us to his tent, his foot hits the sword Martha knocked out of the lookout’s hand.
“You bested him and you have no sword. Why don’t you claim his?”
“No, thank you. He who takes up the sword, will die by the sword,” I reply.
Jesus himself is going to say that to Simon Peter very soon.