Free Jerusalem's Hope by Brock Thoene Page B

a Sparrow! A bit cleaner than when Nakdimon had last seen him. Yes. Better dressed too. But there was no doubt it was The Mourner. The boy who had refused to light his torch on the night of Purim after his friend Hayyim had been killed. How had he come to be in a khan filled with thieves and rebels this far north of Jerusalem?
    Never mind. Avel was here. Avel was there. He shared the bread of Ha-or Tov and Emet. The trio were boon companions; that was plain enough.
    With a practiced swipe along the sagging spine of the donkey, Nakdimon judged that the pathetic creature could carry three.

    At least the straw for sale as bedding in the khan was fresh. New bundles had been brought in, in anticipation of the thousands who would pass through on the way to Jerusalem. Torches burned brightly, as if in welcome, but latecomers were turned away. There was no room left in the inn tonight.
    Nakdimon would have received preferential treatment had he let it be known that he was one of the rulers of Israel. Instead he chose obscurity. Clothed in the garb of a commoner, he was able to listen in on the conversations of those around him. So far all popular sentiment focused on the hope that the Carpenter from Nazareth would wrest control from the high priest, the Sanhedrin, and Rome.
    Nakdimon purchased a bushel of clean straw and sat down to share bread with Ha-or Tov and Emet. Avel was introduced as a brother who had been separated on the road.
    Nakdimon warned them that tomorrow would be a long day if they were to make it all the way to the ford of the Jordan. The donkey would speed them along somewhat, but they would have to be on the road before first light. Emet and Ha-or Tov seemed content with this. They spread the additional bedding and were out cold the minute they lay down.
    Avel stared at Nakdimon with suspicion and did not go to sleep with the others. At last the boy challenged Nakdimon. “I was a quarry Sparrow.”
    â€œYes,” Nakdimon acknowledged. “I remember. The Mourner. Avel. You carried a light for me on Purim.”
    â€œAlong with the other Sparrows.”
    â€œSo. You remember me as well.” Nakdimon was caught.
    â€œI couldn’t forget. You paid us all a penny each. Even me.”
    â€œIt was Purim.” Nakdimon leaned back against the wall. “What did you do with your penny?”
    â€œKittim, chief of the Sparrows, beat me and took it from me. So I left the quarry.” The boy’s tone was one of unconcern. “I’m glad I left.”
    â€œBut you’re going back to Yerushalayim?”
    â€œNo.” Avel considered him frankly. “Why are you dressed like a laborer?”
    â€œIt’s safer.” Nakdimon pulled the hood of his cloak over his head against the chill.
    â€œSafer than what?” Avel challenged.
    â€œThere are bandits on the road.”
    â€œWhy travel alone?”
    â€œMy companions left the Galil ahead of me. I stayed behind awhile.”
    â€œYou were in Capernaum. You were in the Galil. I saw you with Ya’ir, the father of Deborah. You were at the house when Deborah . . . fell asleep. You were there when Yeshua came and woke her.”
    â€œHow do you know this, boy?”
    â€œWe were in the barn . . . hiding. Deborah fed us. Hid us.”
    â€œHid you? From whom?”
    â€œBar Abba’s men.”
    â€œThe rebel?”
    â€œDeborah hid us from Kittim, Asher, and the others. Then she got sick. I climbed a tree and saw it. Saw you. The others. I saw what happened.”
    â€œYou were with the rebels?” Nakdimon studied this young witness in the flickering firelight. Perhaps it would be wise to keep tabs on him, in case testimony was needed before the council.
    â€œKittim was the one you drove away from Emet and Ha-or Tov today.”
    â€œBar Abba’s men? Heading south?”
    â€œWhat did you think?”
    â€œWhy did you leave bar Abba’s gang?”
    â€œWe found