better see the woman.
‘I can’t remember your name.’
‘Miriam.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded faintly. ‘You and Symeon know each other.’
‘He’s a friend. Not as good a friend as he used to be.’
‘Miriam, why are you helping me? I’m a Roman. I thought everyone in Judaea hated us.’
She smiled. ‘Most people do. But this community is different. We try not to let our lives be ruled by hate. Now lie still.’
She reached a hand up to his head and he felt her fingers stroke lightly through his hair, until they grazed the point on his skull that seemed to be the centre of the pain. He winced, gritting his teeth.
‘It’s a bit swollen there. But you seem coherent enough. I don’t think the injury is too serious.You should be back on your feet in a few days, Roman.’
Cato waited until the pain had passed before he unclenched his eyelids and looked at her again. Despite her obvious age, Miriam had striking features. Not conventionally beautiful, but she looked wise and had an air of calm authority. He reached his hand up, took hers and gave it a light squeeze.
‘Thank you, Miriam. I owe you my life.’
‘You owe me nothing. All are welcome here, Roman.’
‘My name is Cato.’
‘Cato . . .Well then, Cato, if you want to repay me, please be quiet and rest.’
‘Miriam,’ a voice called from somewhere else in the house.
She turned to the door and spoke in Aramaic. ‘In here.’
A moment later a boy stood on the threshold. He was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, with a shock of dark hair. He wore a tunic of coarse material and was barefoot. He stared at Cato for a moment before he turned his gaze back towards Miriam. ‘Is he a soldier? One of the Romans?’
‘Yes.’
‘Must he stay here?’
‘Yes,Yusef. He is injured. He needs our help.’
‘But he is an enemy. An enemy of our people.’
‘We have no enemies. Remember? That is not our way.’
The boy did not look convinced and Miriam sighed wearily as she stood up and took his hand. ‘I know this is not easy for you,Yusef, but we must care for him, until he is well enough to leave. Now be a good boy, and finish the threshing. There’s bread to be made for this evening, and I haven’t even done the grinding yet.’
‘Yes, Miriam.’ He nodded, cast a last glance at Cato and turned away. As the bare feet pattered off Cato smiled.
‘I take it that’s one of the Judaeans who still hates Rome.’
‘He has his reasons,’ Miriam replied, watching the boy from the doorway. ‘His father was crucified by the Romans.’
Cato’s smile faded. He felt awkward.’I’m sorry. It must be terrible for him.’
‘He takes it too hard.’ Miriam shook her head. ‘He never knew his father. He wasn’t born until after his death. Still, he feels a sense of loss, or lack, and he has filled the void with anger. For a long time his life centred round hatred of Rome and Romans. Until his mother abandoned him and he came to live with me.’ She turned towards Cato and he saw the look of sadness in her eyes. ‘I was all that he had left in the world. And he was all that I had left.’ Cato did not understand and she smiled at his confused expression. ‘Yusef is my grand-son.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Then Cato felt the sudden chill of realisation as his eyes met Miriam’s.
‘His father was my son. My son was executed by Rome.’ Miriam nodded sadly, then slowly turned away. She left the room and gently closed the door behind her.
For what seemed like a long time Cato lay still in the dark room. When he tried to move the pain in his head returned with a vengeance and pounded away so that he felt sick. With what Miriam had told him he knew he must get away from this house, these people, before they turned on him. Despite Miriam’s claims about the forbearance of the villagers, Cato knew human nature well enough to know that old wounds never heal. As long as he stayed in Miriam’s house, he was in mortal danger. But he could not move without being
‘I can’t remember your name.’
‘Miriam.’
‘Yes.’ He nodded faintly. ‘You and Symeon know each other.’
‘He’s a friend. Not as good a friend as he used to be.’
‘Miriam, why are you helping me? I’m a Roman. I thought everyone in Judaea hated us.’
She smiled. ‘Most people do. But this community is different. We try not to let our lives be ruled by hate. Now lie still.’
She reached a hand up to his head and he felt her fingers stroke lightly through his hair, until they grazed the point on his skull that seemed to be the centre of the pain. He winced, gritting his teeth.
‘It’s a bit swollen there. But you seem coherent enough. I don’t think the injury is too serious.You should be back on your feet in a few days, Roman.’
Cato waited until the pain had passed before he unclenched his eyelids and looked at her again. Despite her obvious age, Miriam had striking features. Not conventionally beautiful, but she looked wise and had an air of calm authority. He reached his hand up, took hers and gave it a light squeeze.
‘Thank you, Miriam. I owe you my life.’
‘You owe me nothing. All are welcome here, Roman.’
‘My name is Cato.’
‘Cato . . .Well then, Cato, if you want to repay me, please be quiet and rest.’
‘Miriam,’ a voice called from somewhere else in the house.
She turned to the door and spoke in Aramaic. ‘In here.’
A moment later a boy stood on the threshold. He was perhaps thirteen or fourteen, with a shock of dark hair. He wore a tunic of coarse material and was barefoot. He stared at Cato for a moment before he turned his gaze back towards Miriam. ‘Is he a soldier? One of the Romans?’
‘Yes.’
‘Must he stay here?’
‘Yes,Yusef. He is injured. He needs our help.’
‘But he is an enemy. An enemy of our people.’
‘We have no enemies. Remember? That is not our way.’
The boy did not look convinced and Miriam sighed wearily as she stood up and took his hand. ‘I know this is not easy for you,Yusef, but we must care for him, until he is well enough to leave. Now be a good boy, and finish the threshing. There’s bread to be made for this evening, and I haven’t even done the grinding yet.’
‘Yes, Miriam.’ He nodded, cast a last glance at Cato and turned away. As the bare feet pattered off Cato smiled.
‘I take it that’s one of the Judaeans who still hates Rome.’
‘He has his reasons,’ Miriam replied, watching the boy from the doorway. ‘His father was crucified by the Romans.’
Cato’s smile faded. He felt awkward.’I’m sorry. It must be terrible for him.’
‘He takes it too hard.’ Miriam shook her head. ‘He never knew his father. He wasn’t born until after his death. Still, he feels a sense of loss, or lack, and he has filled the void with anger. For a long time his life centred round hatred of Rome and Romans. Until his mother abandoned him and he came to live with me.’ She turned towards Cato and he saw the look of sadness in her eyes. ‘I was all that he had left in the world. And he was all that I had left.’ Cato did not understand and she smiled at his confused expression. ‘Yusef is my grand-son.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Then Cato felt the sudden chill of realisation as his eyes met Miriam’s.
‘His father was my son. My son was executed by Rome.’ Miriam nodded sadly, then slowly turned away. She left the room and gently closed the door behind her.
For what seemed like a long time Cato lay still in the dark room. When he tried to move the pain in his head returned with a vengeance and pounded away so that he felt sick. With what Miriam had told him he knew he must get away from this house, these people, before they turned on him. Despite Miriam’s claims about the forbearance of the villagers, Cato knew human nature well enough to know that old wounds never heal. As long as he stayed in Miriam’s house, he was in mortal danger. But he could not move without being
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