The Well Page 15

  He took a deep breath. He’d questioned his teachers and scholars of Caesarea hundreds of times. He could do this. “Do you punish one of your own on the testimony of a pagan?” He stood tall and pulled his shoulders back. “And what of the second witness that the law requires?”

  Yahokeem’s brows twitched lower. Shem felt a whisper of hope. But then Jonothon stepped forward and flicked a hand at Yahokeem. The old priest shuffled behind Jonothon with a tired sigh.

  The younger priest cocked his head at Zevulun, then turned to Shem with a patronizing smile. “You are correct,” he said. He looked over the waiting crowd. “We cannot convict a woman solely on the word of one man. Are there any other witnesses?”

  The crowd murmured, but no one came forward. Nava stood with her head down, her shoulders sagged. Shem breathed a sigh of relief.

  Jonothon raised his hands. “No? Then let us give her the bitter water test.”

  A deep rumble went through the crowd of men. Nava’s face drained of all color. She shook her head.

  Shem nodded to her. “Drink it,” he whispered. “Trust me.”

  Jonothon took up a large earthen cup. He and Yahokeem proceeded through the men, to the center of the sanctuary. “Come forward, Nava, daughter of Naftali, and stand before the Lord.”

  Nava’s eyes met Shem’s before she turned and walked through the hushed crowd.

  “On this scroll is written the accusation of adultery.” Yahokeem unrolled the scroll and held it open. Jonothon poured water over the parchment and caught the stream of ink and water in the earthen cup.

  Shem shook his head. I don’t believe it. This test is ancient history.

  Jonothon scooped a handful of dust from the floor of the sanctuary. Sprinkling it into the cup, he said, “If you have not gone astray by impurity while under the authority of your husband, be immune to the curse of this bitter water.” He swirled the mixture. “But if you have acted impurely, Nava, daughter of Naftali, may the Lord make you an example among your people by causing your thighs to waste away and your belly to swell! May this water, then, that brings a curse, enter your body.”

  He pulled off Nava’s mantle, threw it to the floor, and held out the cup. Nava jerked back like it was poison.

  Shem clenched his jaw. Just drink it. Please.

  Every eye fixed on Nava. She stood alone amid the crowd of men. She took the cup in her shaking hands and raised it to her lips. She closed her eyes for a moment before she let the cup fall from her hands. The inky water pooled in the dust.

  “No. I will not drink it.” Tears leaked from her eyes, but her voice rang out strong in the silent room.

  Shem’s heart pounded. What is she doing?

  “Then you must be guilty!” Zevulun shouted. He waved to the surrounding men, and they stepped closer to Nava.

  Nava ignored Zevulun. She took a deep breath and looked sadly at Shem. She seemed to be begging for his understanding. “I will not drink it. I am guilty.”

  Shem’s heart seemed to stop beating. I don’t believe this. How can she do this to her children?

  Nava knelt before Jonothon. She bowed low, her forehead touching the dirt. “I only beg that you take my children into consideration as you decide my punishment. I have changed. Please.” Nava could not see the smirk of satisfaction that crossed Jonothon’s face, but Shem did. And the glance that passed between Jonothon and Zevulun.

  “She admitted it!” Zevulun shouted, his large body jerking in a triumphant dance.

  But Nava wasn’t done. She crawled through the dust on her knees and stretched out on the ground before her husband. She reached out a hand to touch his foot. “Shaul, I do not deserve your forgiveness, but for the sake of your son, will you defend me?”

  Shaul’s face pinched, and he blinked. His throat worked but no words came from his mouth. He leaned down, his hand stretched out toward her dark hair.

  Zevulun pushed Alexandros forward.

  “Far be it from me to tell you, priests, how to punish your own people. But even the pagans do not allow their wives to flaunt themselves to other men. I had no idea that she was married.” Alexandros shrugged, and a smile twisted his lips. “She was willing enough.”

  Shaul’s face hardened at Alexandros’s words. He jerked away from Nava’s prostrate body. The cereal offering fell from his hand. “How could you? When you knew how much I . . .” He swallowed and looked from his wife to Alexandros. “How do I even know Asher is mine? You were not a proper wife to me, and yet I did not divorce you. I always hoped . . .” His voice dropped to a whisper. “You could not bear for me to touch you, yet you allowed this pagan in your bed?” He worked his mouth and spit on her.

  “She has admitted it. She is an adulteress!” Zevulun crowed. “There is only one punishment in Sychar for adultery. May the priests do their duty now and condemn her to death.”

  They can’t do this. Shem’s mouth went dry. These men were using the laws of Moses for their own gain, their own revenge.

  The room erupted in confusion. The crowd of rough men began to shuffle toward the center, closing in around Nava. Shaul covered his face with his hands as though he couldn’t bear to watch.

  “Wait!” Shem pushed the nearest men away from Nava, trying to keep the panic from his voice. “You cannot order the death penalty. What of the Roman law?” Zevulun stepped up and dug his fat finger into Shem’s chest. “What do the Romans care for one disgraced woman in Sychar?” He looked around at the crowd. “Will you tell the Romans about this?” he asked a rough man near the front, who shook his head. “Will you?” he asked another.

  He leaned in close enough that Shem could smell the sweat that beaded on his forehead and soaked his linen collar. “And you won’t, will you, Shem, son of Ezra? Surely you—of all the men here—would not want to bring Roman attention to Sychar?” Zevulun’s mouth curled into a sneer.

  Shem stepped back in surprise. A chill whispered up his spine. So Zevulun’s informer had been busy. And he was right. Shem couldn’t go to the governor. Neither could Abahu if he wanted to keep his grandson safe. They were helpless, and it was all his fault. If he hadn’t come to Sychar, Nava would be safe in her home with Mara. He couldn’t bear it. Not another death on my head.

  Jonothon raised his hands. “You, Nava, daughter of Naftali,” he intoned, “are condemned to death by stoning.”

  The men stormed around Nava, pulling her up and dragging her to the door. The tide of men pushed Shem to the back of the crowd. “Get to her!” he shouted, catching sight of Abahu. Enosh and his brothers struggled through the crowd. Uziel was flattened against the farthest wall.

  “Shaul, help me!” Nava called to her husband. One man dragged her by the arm, another held her by her hair. Shaul turned toward his wife, his face twisted in indecision. Too late, he held out his arms toward her, but the space between them was already too wide.

  Shem rammed through the rest of the crowd and out of the synagogue. He glimpsed Zevulun and Shimon throwing Nava to the ground before the crowd surrounded her.

  I have to stop them. Shem rushed toward the mob. Pain shot through his jaw, and he was on his back on the dusty ground, tasting blood.

  Amram stood over him, his fists raised. “Your turn to lie in the dirt.”

  Shem scrambled up with a rush of anger. If Amram wanted a fight, he’d get one. He sidestepped the sluggish fist that Amram threw at him and lashed out with his own. He felt a satisfying crunch, and blood spurted from Amram’s nose. Shem turned and plunged into the crowd. He craned his neck to see over the crowd.

  Nava struggled to her feet. “No!” she cried. “My children, think of them . . . have mercy! Please, I know that I’ve sinned. Jesus, the Taheb, he knew my sins. But he did not condemn me. Please.” She turned to Shimon. “You know. He forgave my sins.”

  Zevulun’s face turned from red to purple. “Forgave your sins!” He covered his ears with his hands. “A Jew from Nazareth forgave your sins? That is blasphemy!”

  Zevulun ripped o
ff his cloak and threw it to the ground. Shimon, Jonothon, and Alexandros piled their own coats at his feet. Men and boys fetched armfuls of stones. Zevulun hefted one in each hand, and the others did the same.

  Shaul darted to the edge of the crowd. He pulled at the nearest bystander. The man knocked him aside. Shaul waved his arms at Zevulun. “Stop! Don’t hurt her!”

  No one took any notice of him.

  Shem shouted, “Stop! Listen to this man.”

  Zevulun’s head jerked up. “Get that one out of here!” He pointed to Shem. A huge man with arms like tree trunks waded through the crowd toward him. Who was this? No one from Sychar. This moment had been carefully planned by Zevulun and his cronies.

  But where was Abahu? He spotted two rough shepherds dragging Abahu and Enosh toward the cedar trees.

  The goliath grabbed Shem by the neck of his tunic, choking him as he dragged him farther away from Nava. Panic gave Shem strength. He twisted suddenly and slammed his elbow into the man’s face. He heard a low grunt, and his tunic came free.

  Shem couldn’t see Nava, but he heard her screams. Abahu was huddled on the ground behind the crowd, protecting himself from a round of vicious kicks. Enosh was holding his own against a man twice his size. Shem hesitated. Which should he help first? He stumbled out of the crowd and brought Abahu’s attacker down with one blow. A hard kick kept him down.

  “Are you hurt?” Shem helped Abahu up.

  Enosh limped toward them, holding his ribs, but his attacker lay motionless on the ground. “I’ll stay with him.”

  “Go,” Abahu coughed out, pushing Shem toward Nava.

  Shem heaved himself through the shouting mob. Please, don’t let me be too late.

  He glimpsed Zevulun hurling a massive, jagged stone. It hit the side of Nava’s head, and she fell to her knees. Alexandros smiled grimly as he threw two huge rocks at Nava’s bent body and reached for more.

  The angry crowd closed in. Harder and faster they threw. Their cries grew less human, like the shrieks of buzzards fighting over a carcass.

  Finally, Shem reached the inner ring of the crowd. He froze. Blood matted Nava’s dark hair and flowed down her arms. A deep gash covered half her face and poured blood. She scrabbled through the dirt on her hands and knees, trying desperately to crawl away under the rain of stones.

  Sudden pain shot up his arm. Amram had found him again, and this time, he had the help of the angry giant, his nose still spewing blood. The giant wrenched both Shem’s arms behind his back. Amram grabbed his tunic and pulled it tight against his throat. Shem struggled but couldn’t move. He could hardly breathe. “Let me go!” he croaked.

  “It’s too late,” Amram sneered. “She’ll get what she deserves.”

  “Finish it!” Zevulun roared. Huge stones hit her like battering rams. Small ones flew like arrows.

  Shem pulled hard, cursing, trying to wrench his arms free, but Amram and the giant held tight. Despair squeezed his chest like a vice. He couldn’t save her now. He had failed her. Then Shem heard another voice, small and high. It came from near the ground.

  “Stop hurting my mama!”

  No, not Asher. His blood surged, panic rose in his chest, and he strained against the hands that held him. A flash of dirty tunic caught his eye—Asher, crawling through the legs of the tightly packed crowd. As Shem tried to get enough air to cry out, to stop him, Asher reached the open area where his mother cowered. He took no notice of the flying stones but scuttled toward Nava.

  Nava caught sight of her son. “No, Asher!” she screamed. She reached weakly through the rain of stones. Asher threw himself at her. Nava, with what seemed the last of her strength, pulled him close, pushing her bleeding body over his small one.

  “Stop—the boy!” Shem yelled. Could anyone hear him? Didn’t they see?

  Finally, some men backed away, stones dropping from their hands. But not Alexandros. The big man hurled one last stone with all his strength. Nava saw it coming. She curled around Asher. The stone met her skull with a crack. Her body stiffened, then went limp and still.

  Shem slumped to the ground. He had failed. Nava was dead. He hadn’t put a knife in her heart like the soldier, but it was his fault just the same.

  Chapter 18

  Mara couldn’t move. Her feet had turned to stone, her bones to water. What—who was that? Who was lying in a heap in front of the synagogue? She forced a foot one step forward, her legs suddenly weak and trembling.

  Worry had plagued her in the barley field. Finally, at midday, she took her half-filled basket and walked back to the village to find men and women hurrying toward the synagogue. A small boy streaked past her, running in the opposite direction. “Tovia!” she snagged his arm as he passed her. “What’s going on?”

  “Mara, hurry!” said the boy, breathing hard. “Your mother . . . go. I need to get Mama.” He gave her a push toward the mountain and ran toward Uziel’s house.

  My mother? At the synagogue? The basket dropped from her head, and barley sheaves scattered on the ground as she raced out of the village toward the Holy Mountain.

  Now the sea of bodies parted to form a wall of silent spectators on each side. The figure lay in the dirt, unmoving. It was Nava’s tunic, pushed high above her knees, her legs streaked with red. Stones of all sizes surrounded her still body, and a dark pool seeped into the dust around her wild black hair.

  Mara took another step on legs that felt as weak as a newborn baby’s.

  The crowd around her stood silently, watching. She heard only one voice, her own, whispering her mother’s name. Her feet shuffled toward the crumpled body. What was that? A small, twisted foot lay under the blood-soaked arm, a scrap of tunic that she knew so well.

  Her heart stopped. “No.” She dropped to her knees beside her mother. “No, please, not Asher.” She peered up at the strange, ugly men looming over her. Who were they? Am I dreaming? “Help me! Please, someone!”

  Then Uziel knelt beside her. Blood trickled from his nose, and his tunic was ripped. He gently rolled Nava to the side, exposing Asher.

  “Asher, Asher, please talk to me.” Mara cupped Asher’s cheek, covered in dirt and streaked with tears. His eyes were squeezed shut, his hands clutched Nava’s bloody fingers.

  “Don’t hurt my mama,” he said, without opening his eyes.

  She breathed again. He’s alive. Thank you, Lord.

  Mara turned to her mother’s body. Uziel held his hand over her mouth. “She breathes. She’s still alive,” he whispered.

  How did this happen? Alexandros hurried down the mountain. Zevulun stood slightly apart, brushing dust off his linen robe. Shem staggered toward her, his mouth was bleeding, his face streaked with dirt and—were those tears? Enosh and Abahu knelt on the other side of her mother. Uziel put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. But another man came forward. She reached out to him. “Shaul? Abba? Why are you . . . ?”

  Shaul didn’t even look at her. He threw himself on the ground and buried his face in Nava’s blood-streaked hair. A low keening rose from his body.

  What had happened? She turned to Uziel. “How did this—”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mara. I don’t know . . .” He ran his hands over Asher’s hair and face. “He’s cut and scraped, but I think that’s all.”

  Asher’s lashes fluttered. His small mouth worked to swallow, and his hand jerked. Mara caught it in her own. He squeezed her fingers and opened his eyes. “I took care of her, Mara. I did.”

  Uziel slipped his arms under Nava’s slack legs and shoulders. He tried to lift her, but she was too heavy for him. He looked to Enosh for help.

  Shaul pushed himself up from the ground. “Let me carry her.”

  Uziel frowned but he nodded. “To my house.”

  Shaul lifted Nava easily. Her head tipped back, and her blood-soaked hair hung down, almost brushing the ground. One arm swung limp and lifeless. Shaul choked back a sob, then started down the mountain with his burden.

  Mar
a’s body was numb. What happened? Why was Shaul here? Who were all these strangers? Still kneeling in the dirt, she put her arms around Asher. She buried her face in his neck, fighting to breathe.

  “Here, Mara, let me.” A gentle hand closed over her shoulder.

  Shem. She didn’t need his help. He had known about the trial this morning, but he’d let her leave. He’d seen her go to the field. She jerked her shoulder free and tried to get to her feet, holding Asher close. Her legs buckled, and she sank to the ground.

  Shem untangled Asher’s clutching hands from her hair, scooped him to his shoulder, and offered her his other hand. She took it, pulling herself to her feet. He winced, and she glanced at his hand. It was swollen and bloody.

  “I’m sorry, Mara,” he said, his voice breaking a little. “We tried to stop them. They must have . . . they had it planned. There were too many . . .”

  “You knew,” Mara said. They all knew. Everyone but her. “She knew, and she sent me away. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Shem stared at the ground. “Don’t blame her, Mara. She wanted to protect you. I wanted to protect you. I should have told you, but we—none of us thought it would come to this.”

  Come to this. Stoning. But she had known. She had always known it would come to this. Even after Nava had been healed by Jesus, she had known that they were still in danger. Why hadn’t she been there to protect her mother?

  • • •

  Mara sat on the floor next to her mother’s still body. A bloody mask hid her mother’s beautiful face. A long deep gash formed an ugly scab from her temple to her mouth. One eye was swollen shut. Cuts and scrapes covered her soft brown skin. Leah had bathed the wounds and applied salves. She had tried but failed to get Nava to drink water steeped with herbs. There was nothing left to do but wait and pray.

  The evening breeze cooled Uziel’s crowded little house. In the corner, Asher sat silently in Mechola’s lap, staring at his mother. Leah tended to Noach and his sons, cleansing and wrapping their wounds. Outside, in the courtyard, Mara could hear Uziel, Shem, and Abahu.