Chapter 05
"Ave," Publius raised his right hand in greeting. With all hope of surprise gone it was best to put a bold face on things.
The man stared at them uncertainly for a moment and then ducked his head and called something into the building. A moment later a second man appeared, dressed in a ragged loincloth. He too stood and stared but then, pushed by the first man, he came towards them.
"Kale hemera, kurioi," he said in halting but passable Greek.
"My horse is lame," Publius said in the same language. "Can we stay here tonight?" He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Are you a slave?"
"Yes, kurios," the man said in the same low tone.
"Are you a Jew?" Publius asked.
The man shook his head. "No, kurios. I am from Syria."
"Will it be safe for us here?" Publius hissed.
The man straightened up and beamed at them. "Of course, kurios. A year ago it might have been different. My master was very anti-Roman then but now he is much kinder. He's even stopped beating me."
"Really?" Publius raised his eyebrows. "Er - why?"
"Come, kurios," the slave said. "We mustn't keep my master waiting. He may tell you or else I will later on when I have an opportunity."
He led Publius over to the first man and said something to him in a language that Publius guessed was Aramaic. Instead of looking affronted or indignant the man smiled broadly and said something in the same language. "B'shem Rav Yeshua," he said, gesturing towards the open door. "B'shem Rav Yeshua."
"He says, 'Welcome in the name of Rav Yeshua'," the slave translated
"Who?" Publius asked.
"Rav Yeshua - I think you'd call him Rabbi Joshua," the slave answered. "He's the reason the master is a different man. You go within, kurios. I'll see to the horses with your slave."
Publius ducked his head and entered the shack which was lit by a small fire at the far end of the room. The woman squatting in front of it and stirring something in the pot rose and looked from Publius to her husband. The man said something to her and she nodded and squatted down again.
Publius looked around uncertainly. There was no furniture in the room and only a single small mat spread on the floor. The man pulled the door to and came over. He gestured to Publius to sit on the mat and snapped an order to the woman, who Publius guessed was his wife. She lifted the pot off the fire and bustled over to a large pithos, into which she dipped a clay cup. She brought it over to Publius and handed it to him, the water dripping from its porous surface.
"Thank you." Publius took the cup and drank gratefully. The water was cool and refreshing. "Thank you," he said again when he had finished and held the cup out to his hostess.
The woman made no move to take it from him and after an awkward moment the man came forward and took it, handling it carefully with his fingertips as if it was hot. He looked around uncertainly and then put it on the ground beside Publius before going over to sit against the wall opposite him.
The woman returned to her cooking and an uncomfortable silence reigned in the room until the door was shoved open and Geta and the Syrian slave came into the room. Geta came and sat down near Publius while the Syrian turned towards his master and said something to him. When the man nodded the Syrian turned to face Publius.
"I have put some salve on your horse's foot, kurios, but that is all I can do. If the gods are favourable it may do some good. We use it on our donkey. Has my master ...?" he glanced down at the cup beside Publius. "I see he has. You will be safe now."
"He has what?" Publius asked. "Why will we be safe?"
"If he has given you food or drink then you are his guest and your life is safe," the Syrian answered and then made a wry face. "Mind you, he'll have to smash that cup - and anything else you touch - after you leave. Of your kindness, kurios, touch as little as possible. My master is not very rich."
"But why?" Publius demanded, puzzled. "Why does he have to smash things?"
"It's his religion," the Syrian answered. "You are unclean and pollute everything you touch. As I said, a year ago he would have died rather than let you into his house or do anything to help you."
"So why the difference?" Publius asked. "Why is he suddenly welcoming us?"
Instead of replying the Syrian turned to his master and spoke to him. The man's face lighted up and he said something in reply.
"He says that a year ago he had an accident, he was knocked down by a stampeding donkey and broke his leg. I know, I was with him. It was up there, in Nazareth. We had gone there to sell our grain."
The man made another speech and the Syrian listened carefully before translating.
"He says that he did not know what to do because he was far from home and anyway it was the harvest time and he needed to be out in the fields reaping. One of the stallholders helped me tie his leg to a stick but it wasn't straight and we didn't know what to do."
"Why didn't you get a doctor?" Publius asked.
The Syrian smiled sadly. "Kurios, doctors are not for us. We couldn't afford them even if they were willing to waste time on us."
The man broke in impatiently with another speech.
"My master says that just when he was in despair Rav Yeshua - Rabbi Joshua, you remember? - came past with his disciples and saw him," the Syrian translated. "He asked my master if he wanted to be healed and of course my master said 'Yes'."
The man said some more and pulled up his robe to show Publius his left leg.
"My master says that Rav Yeshua - Rabbi Joshua - simply stroked his leg and immediately it was healed. He says that you can see it for yourself, that it is as straight as it ever was."
"And is this true?" Publius demanded.
"Oh yes, kurios," the Syrian smiled and nodded. "I was there. I had helped to tie his leg, you remember. I know that it was broken - it bent in places it should not bend - and I saw it, straight and strong after we untied it. My master walked away from there as if nothing had ever happened."
Publius moved over and in the dim light peered at the man's leg - though mindful of the Syrian's warnings he did not touch it. Probably the rule about breaking things touched by a gentile did not apply to legs but he couldn't be sure.
"But what I don't understand," Publius said when he was back on the mat, "is why this makes a difference to the man's attitude to us? I mean, he had his leg healed. Great. We praise the gods. But why does that make him friendly towards Romans?"
"Not just Romans, kurios, all gentiles. As I said, he has stopped beating even me."
"Yes, but why?" Publius persisted.
"It is because of the teachings of Rabbi Joshua, kurios," the Syrian explained. "Rabbi Joshua teaches His followers that they must love even their enemies, they must do good even to those who curse them. If a Roman soldier forces you to carry his baggage for one mile, then you should be willing to carry it for two miles."
It was one of the strangest evenings Publius had ever spent. To save his host's crockery he sent Geta out to fetch the legionary tin plate from which to eat the food that was set before them. After the meal the woman took the left-over food and squatted in the corner, her back to the men, and devoured it hungrily. By then the fire had died down to a few dim embers and Publius sent Geta out to fetch his bedding.
"Shall I sleep with you, Master?" Geta whispered when he brought it in.
"I don't know," Publius whispered back, glancing over at his silent host. "They seem friendly enough and it wouldn't do to offend them. See if you can sleep by the outer wall of the house and keep an ear open. If you hear me yell for help ..."
"I'll be in immediately," Geta promised and left the room.
Publius thanked the gods for his legionary bedding, pulled his cloak over himself and watched out of half-closed eyes as the man and his wife just lay down on the floor, carefully avoiding the mat on which Publius had been sitting, and pulled an old blanket over themselves. As far as Publius could tell they went straight to sleep and he was not long in following them.
