Free Rebekah's Treasure by Sylvia Bambola

for I have sworn an oath.” It’s my son’s voice.
    I slip closer and see Zechariah and Aaron standing together. Concealing myself behind a tower of willow baskets, I watch. Zechariah appears to study Aaron. He rubs a finger over his sizable nose and frowns as if making a discovery.
    “Then, you haven’t come to settle here?” He finally says.
    “I made an oath.”
    “Yes, yes, an oath. To fight in Jerusalem, I suppose.”
    My heart thumps like a drum as I watch my son. His face is tense.
    “I’ve only stayed these past three weeks to see that my mother and sister are properly settled.”
    “Of course, of course. And now that they are, you’ll be leaving?”
    “Yes, tomorrow, at first light.”
    My breath catches. I had hoped for a few more days. Just a few more days.
    “But what I need to know, Zechariah, is that they’ll be safe from those Greeks on the other side of the wadi; those Greeks who have no Torah to govern them. Is there justice here for a Jew?”
    Zechariah smiles. “Safety? Justice? For a Jew? You don’t ask for much, young Aaron.” He shrugs. “Still, we can praise
Hashem
for one thing. There will be little interference from Rome. Pella, like the rest of the Decapolis, governs herself. All the leaders are chosen from within. But ever since the Gischalites wiped out the last bunch, Argos has been running things. Iguess you could call him the
head
troublemaker.” Zechariah holds his large barrel-chest and laughs at his own joke.
    Aaron doesn’t seem amused. “Argos, the little idol maker?”
    Zechariah nods. “Don’t let his size fool you. He wields great influence. Many Gentiles believe he has supernatural powers; powers to heal, to interpret dreams and to control the weather. He’s forever braiding and unbraiding his hair. Like all his sect, he believes knots have magical powers.”
    I see Aaron’s hand move to the dagger that he carries hidden in his robe. “Then perhaps I should take care of him before I go.”
    Zechariah appears horrified. “And bring Roman justice down on our heads? The man is a citizen. And so proud of it, too! His wooden
diptych
hangs on the wall of his shop where everyone can see it from the doorway. The hinged boards are always open to reveal the official record.” Zechariah rests his large hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Be at peace, young Aaron. Aside from Argos and his sect, the other Gentiles are harmless enough. Oh, they think we’re strange, for they believe we eat our own God when we break the bread, but for the most part they leave us alone. They’re content to worship the little stone gods they’ve crammed into niches throughout their homes, honoring them with libations and wafers. But Argos . . . that worshipper of Isis . . . he
is
dangerous. He senses we believers have real power, and this frightens him. Only last month, Amos was badly beaten when Argos and some of his followers found him praying in the field. And the month before, Mary, Simon’s wife, was followed and harassed when she crossed the wadi. It made her so fearful, she stayed indoors for days.”
    “How did that Egyptian abomination come to be worshiped here?” Aaron says.
    Zechariah looks stunned. “Surely you know the cult of Isis is widespread. Since Caligula, it has greatly flourished.”
    “In Jerusalem we don’t concern ourselves with idolatry.”
    “To be sure. But in Ephesus it’s all around us. Tiberius tried to destroy this Isis cult that Mark Antony officially established, but Caligularevived it. That mad man rebuilt the
Iseum Campense
and established the Festival of Isis, even donning the clothes of a woman in order to lead the rituals. Now shrines of Isis pepper the hills of Rome. And who has not heard how even Vespasian and his son, Titus, incubate in the
Iseum
to induce an inspired dream or vision?” Zechariah laughs, goodnaturedly. “Unless, of course, you are from Jerusalem.”
    Aaron wrinkles his forehead. He’s clearly scandalized. “Years ago the