An Echo in the Darkness(73)

But don’t wait too long, Lord. We are so few.

He glanced back and saw Taphatha walking, the lead rope in her hand. “Daughter, what are you doing?”

“It’s very hot, Father, and the poor animal is weary from carrying me.” She ran up the road toward him. “Besides, I’m tired of riding,” she said cheerfully.

“You will tire soon enough in this heat,” he said, dabbing the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his robe. There was no use in insisting she ride. Besides, the donkey needed no urging now that she held the rope.

“What do you suppose they’re circling, Father?”

“What?” he said in alarm and looked around for robbers leaping from the rocks.

“Up there.” She pointed.

As he lifted his head slightly, he saw the vultures again. “Something died,” he said flatly. Or was killed, he added to himself. And it could be them next if they didn’t get out of these hills and down to Jericho.

Taphatha kept watching the birds flying their slow, graceful circles.

“A goat probably fell into the wadi,” Ezra said, trying to allay her concern. He whipped the stick on his donkey’s side, hurrying its pace as they came nearer.

“Goats are very surefooted, Father.”

“Perhaps it was an old goat.”

“Maybe it isn’t a goat at all.”

The vultures were almost overhead. Ezra’s fingers tightened on the stick. He glanced up again and frowned. They would not still be circling had their prey died. They would be feasting upon it. What if it was a man?

“Why me, Lord?” he muttered under his breath and then motioned sharply to Taphatha. “Stay away from the ledge. I’ll look.” He slid from the donkey’s back and handed her the rope.

He walked to the edge and looked down into the wadi. He saw nothing on the floor of it but rock and dust and some scraggly bushes that would be washed away during the first rains. He was about to step back when he heard the trickle of rocks. He looked to his left and down along the steep cut in the bank.

“What is it, Father?”

“A man,” he said grimly. Stripped and bleeding. He looked dead. Ezra looked for sure footing and started down. Now that he had seen him, he couldn’t ride on without finding out if he was alive or dead. “Why me, Lord?” he muttered again, sliding down a few feet and moving cautiously along a rocky surface until he could descend again without sending a cascade of rocks over the man. Glancing up, he saw his daughter on her hands and knees, leaning over the edge. “Stay back, Taphatha.”

“I’ll get the blanket.”

“We probably won’t need it,” he said under his breath.

As he came closer, he saw the man had been slashed along the side. The open wound was swarming with flies. His skin was reddened from exposure, both eyes were blackened and swollen shut, his lip was split, he was covered with bruises and scrapes. Sicarii must have beaten him, stripped him of everything he owned, and dumped him in the wadi.

Full of pity, Ezra knelt on one knee, but as he leaned over him, he realized the man’s hair was cropped short. A Roman! Closer examination revealed a pale band of white around the first finger of his right hand where a signet ring had been. Ezra drew back and stood up.

Staring down at the wounded man, Ezra struggled against the rising heat of animosity. Romans had destroyed his beloved Jerusalem, the bride of kings. Romans had crucified Joseph and obliterated his daughter’s chances of having a secure and happy future. A Roman foot was on the neck of all Jews.

“Is he alive, Father?” Taphatha called down to him.

“He’s a Roman!”

“Is he alive?”

The man moved his head slightly. “Help me,” he rasped in Greek.

Ezra winced at the pain in that voice. He bent down again, his gaze moving over the purpling bruises, the deep gash, the burned and abraded skin . . . and his animosity evaporated in a warm wave of compassion. Roman or not, he was a man.

“We won’t leave you,” he said and called up to his daughter. “Tie the water bag to the rope and lower it. My cloak as well.” She disappeared from the edge momentarily and then returned. He caught hold of the water bag and untied it. She pulled the rope up and sent the cloak down next while two donkeys stood at the edge, peering down at him.

He tipped the Roman’s head up and let a few drops of water drip into his mouth. Pouring a small amount of water into his cupped hand, Ezra cooled the man’s sunburned face. The Roman moved slightly and groaned in pain. “Don’t move. Drink,” Ezra said in Greek and held the mouth of the water bag to his lips. The Roman swallowed the precious liquid. Some of it ran down his chin and neck onto his scraped chest.