The Shield of David: { A Novel }

By Vidda Crochetta

When Petros, the leader of the disciples of Joshua, began a secret journey up the Jordan River, he is not certain who he will meet along the way. He does know some of the players of his mission and where to meet them, but does not know the big picture. Then a mysterious hooded person approaches him on the sandy shores of the Dead Sea, more familiar to him than strange. Together they will face the uncertainty of a mission known only to The Shield of David.

Author Vidda Crochetta chronicles the greatest story ever told unlike any author before him. The Shield of David is five women who combine their resources and unite to protect a charismatic Galilean populist preacher to save him from himself. The man is more important to them than his mission to challenge the Roman and Jewish authorities who disregard the concerns of ordinary people and support the established elite.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9781663257246

Vidda Crochetta

Vidda Crochetta is the cofounder of two nonprofit organizations and former president of a market research services company. He was raised and educated on the western shore of the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland.

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THE SHIELD OF DAVID

{ A NOVEL }

Vidda Crochetta

THE SHIELD OF DAVID

{ A NOVEL }

Copyright © 2023 Vidda Crochetta.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5723-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6632-5724-6 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023920098

iUniverse rev. date: 04/18/2024

Contents

Author’s Note

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

"When there is a strong woman character in a story - that always grabs me."

Ang Lee

It’s no wonder that truth is stranger than fiction. Fiction has to make sense.

Mark Twain

Mankind is poised midway between the gods and the beasts.

Plotinus

Author’s Note

This is a work of fiction based on the greatest fiction ever told. Actual biblical quotes and any variation thereof used in this novel are from any of the several public domain versions of the King James Bible (KJV).

For

Paul Francis Bennett

And

Janie

He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches; To him that over cometh will I give to eat the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God.

Revelations: 2:7

Prologue

From Yonatan, the beloved of Joshua, to my good friend Solomon, companion of my middle years, may you survive me by many years and remember me. I write you because I know it is customary for you to keep these few parchments where I indulge myself with the finest Indus inks to send my written words. Justus, my companion here in Ephesus sends his greetings. May peace reign over chaos.

I awoke this day before my usual early hour when our eastern quarter lay under a blanket of darkness and nothing stirred upon the land. No doubt it was the task at hand that roused my sleep so that I was unable to wallow in my usual slumber before the cock crows. Only the day before I had done with my writing, a task I was sharing with the pastoral duties I keep here in Ephesus. There are times when I think of full retirement. I hope soon, my friend, to devote all my time to applying my quill each day. This morning is my first time away from the completion of my Logos, a labour I had set for myself this past Nissan. Today I must sit and pore over the script with a prudent eye for any affectation of the strange and glorious events of my youth. Breaking my fast was my usual hearty affair for, as you must remember from our days of living together, I cannot abide my day on an empty belly. In the azure of first light I made my way to the baker’s shop before walking the short distance to the reading room of the annexe.

Once there I opened the labeled door to my private armaria and removed the sheath of parchment, carrying it to my desk. I sat heavily, grunting, not from weight or annoyance, but age. At this early hour, I am pleased at having the scriptorium to myself. The arrangement I have with the chief librarian serves both of our interests well. From Ephesus, I can direct the affairs of the seven communities of Joshua and, at the same time, have a place to write in peaceful solitude. The small annex to the main library benefits by my patronage and the curators have always accommodated me as best they can.

The high windows cast the morning light over my shoulder helping my weakened eyes to see my own writing. Of course, these days, I delegate most of the writing responsibilities to scribes in my private dictatorium, but writing this logos before me was a different matter. Now that it is completed, I must read my own words to see if, as my grandfather Rabbi ben Gessara use to say, ‘the truth is stranger than any stories told by men.’

I knew when I left my house at dawn that it would be difficult to read my own writing in an objective manner. Its point of view is personal in nature, yet I could not bring myself to write in the first person, writing in the third person instead, as if I were recalling my experiences through the eyes of a stranger.

After reading the books of Mattayyah, Loukas and Markos, I realized that Markos had written the truest account and, that Mattayyah and Loukas borrowed from him, adding fanciful accounts of their own and, in some cases, added text to fulfill certain prophesies that were not fulfilled by Joshua in the flesh. On the other hand, Markos is guilty of omission and some revision. In any case, their accounts of the events are secondhand. Markos wrote down the words of Petros, Loukas wrote the words of Saul, who was called Paul, and by the time Mattayyah had replaced the disciple Judas, the light of my life was gone. And while all of these people are presently resting in the bosom of Abraham, I feel very much alive with more life yet in me, as was promised to me by the spirit double you will learn more about in this account.

The events herein are from memory and the memories of those who have recounted to me their accounts of events when I was not present. And now that I have completed this chronicle, I feel compelled to read it to decide if I will leave it to be published or be done with it and throw it into the fire. Having written this account with an honest hand, I am aware that my recollections fly in the face of current teachings, indeed, teachings that I had helped to establish. Yet, it sorely bothers me that the man I knew and loved was not the man portrayed by Mattayyah and Loukas and I am particularly displeased with Paul’s ensuing aversion towards women and the unkind oppression he employed in the name of Joshua.

It was not until I heard that some in the community of Laodicea has begun calling Joshua by the gentile name of Jesus, and obscuring his Judean lineage with the Greek word christos for messiah, that I felt the need to set the record straight and resolved to bear witness for our children’s children the true nature of this ‘god among men’ and the women and disciples who followed him.

Hence, these leaves of parchment before me are the fruits of my labor. And like all fruit that falls from the tree, it will be eaten or it will rot. I am the harvester of my own words and I shall have to decide whether or not they are fit to be told. When my mind is made up and content with this indulgent chore, my scribe will faithfully copy this codex and it will be delivered to you, my dear Solomon, in the usual manner.

In my world, as you know, I am considered ancient, although I am younger than my current companion who so long ago was a slave to Pontius Pilate. Nevertheless, my sight, while diminished, remains one of the wonders of my advanced age.

My hands tremble now as I pull my written words from the sheath and lay open the pages before me…

And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them; and crooked things straight.

Isaiah 42:16

CHAPTER ONE

The water lapped gently against the shoreline, teasing this aperture of arid earth with the conspicuously offensive taste of its brackish flavor without affording any relief from the torrid rays of the unimpeded sun on its sandy shores. Not far from the water’s edge two naked boys floated with easy buoyancy, their heads and feet jutting lazily on the placid blue surface of the saltwater sea.

Petros brushed back his long hair and waved at the boys to come ashore. The boys splashed boisterously out of the water, laughing, running over the hot sand, their moist, brown skin glistening in the bright light of the afternoon. Their robes and sandals were laid out on the larger rocks.

The younger boy saw the lone traveler first. Without a word his eyes told Petros to take notice. They dressed casually watching without staring as the stranger approached.

The man threw back his hood and came closer. He looked up at this giant of a man. I am Caleb Zemira, he said.

I’m Petros ben Ephraim. These are my sons, Kenan and Zephraim, he said, waving lazily behind him in the direction of the boys.

Caleb smiled at the boys, one older and taller, but both already growing tall like their father. He turned to Petros. I am seeking Joshua ben Joseph.

Petros looked askance at him, My friend, many people are seeking Joshua ben Joseph. From what land do you travel?

I’m from Tyre.

You travel from the far north, said Petros, looking surprised.

Caleb answered evenly, I have heard the stories. His fame has traveled afar.

Petros scratched his beard absently and sighed. From the moment when Joshua had commanded of him, Follow me, he has witnessed the public’s growing obsession with this charismatic man he had met only two years before. He thought fondly of his fisherman days. Those were simpler days. Pointing limply to the north, he said plainly, You are welcome to travel with the lads and me. We could use the company.

The boys snatched up their traveling rucksack. The shorter boy, Zephraim, picked up a heavy oak staff and handed it to his father.

They left the rocks together, with Caleb falling in beside them and keeping up with the long legs of his host. I take it you know ben Joseph, if not, you know where to find him?

Petros glanced at the motionless Sea of Salt on his right, I know him, was all he said.

They settled into a brisk pace along the dry rocky lowland as they traveled to find the nearest caravansary.

The walls of Jericho showed no evidence of having been flattened by his ancestors in days long gone. Petros smiled at the thought of trumpets knocking down the massive stone walls. The things he didn’t easily accept in his orthodoxy he kept to himself. No sense in rocking the boat over a trivial fable. He eased himself down from the mule. They had rented four mules from the stables at Nezett where the Jordan River meets the northeastern edge of the Sea of Salt. He had to pay for his new companion, who had no money nor carried any personal effects.

They would spend the night in Jericho. The featherlike date palm trees at the gate’s entrance provided enough shade for him to cool off while waiting for Caleb and his boys, who had stopped briefly to examine something protruding out of the ground. Petros kept going for fear his mare would not carry his weight the full distance. Better to keep going. The boys will fill him in.

Passing through the steppes of Cana on the western bank of the Jordon River was only the beginning of the long trip back to Galilee. The mountains of Samaria, rising on the horizon west of Jericho, lay between the Mujib and Hesa wadis to the north and south. Towering behind the city lay the fortified mountain fortress of Charachi illuminated by the golden hue of the setting sun. Benefiting from the surrounding abundant water system, Jericho is an oasis of fig trees, palms and thermal springs. The warm waters within the walls have long been enclosed in public bathhouses for the convenience of the bathing conscious populace. The narrow streets are congested with pedestrian deeds of living and working from the first light to the last. Caravans keep dry goods and spices moving along a well-traveled route, as far away as Akena on the Lower Nile, to Jerusalem, through Jericho and on to Caesarea north of Galilee.

Petros tethered his mule at one of the hitching posts just as Caleb and the boys came into sight straggling behind five camels swaying with hempen sacks and water reed boxes strapped to their backs. He was hungry and knew the boys would be too. His cousin would make room at his house to feed and bed them for the night. Reunited with his sons, Petros extended the invitation to Caleb to stay at his cousin’s house. Caleb graciously accepted on the condition he could pick some fruit for the household.

Petros was relieved that Caleb hadn’t pressed him for any information about Joshua during their journey. Once they were mounted, they talked of the life supporting waters of the Nile, the secret fortresses in the Moab Mountains, fishing nets on the Sea of Galilee and other predictable topics. They would have the opportunity following supper to speak of the man from Galilee.

What caused you to stop back on the steppes? queried Petros, lifting his youngest son from the back of the mule. Kenan, the oldest son answered, Father, we found an urn with scrolls, the tall boy said, grabbing the reins of his younger brother’s mule, he added, Zephraim saw it first, as he is wont to do. Petros smiled down at Zephraim, Aye, his eyes are sharp, he said, tussling his youngest son’s shaggy hair.

He unleashed his mule and led the way to the caravansary where the camels and mules are stabled at the inn. It occurred to him to ask, I see no urn, Kenan. Did you not bring the urn with you? he spoke, turning in mid-stride. Zephraim spoke up, The urn was cracked Father. Kenan carries the scrolls. The boy pointed to rolled parchments sticking out from the rucksack the eldest son carried. Petros nodded. We’ll have a look at them after we eat.

In the stables along the outside of the city walls, the four of them gave up their mounts to the stall keepers and made for the south gate of Jericho.

Emanuel ben Ephraim threw his arms wide to greet his newly arrived guests. Cousins and friend, he said, nodding as well to Caleb, it is good to see you. I crave good company. Come in, come in. He ushered them into a large quadrangle of colonnaded terraces. Tumbling vines dressed the verandas to the cobblestone pavement obscuring the portal to the main entrance of his clay brick, shale slated dwelling. Emanuel was a big man like his cousin but not as tall. His beard was trimmed, and his hair cut uniformly at the nape of his neck, but there was no mistaking the family resemblance. He put his two meaty arms around the shoulders of Kenan and Zephraim, escorting them all into the house.

Caleb Zemira, after properly introducing himself to Emanuel, uncovered a small basket of pomegranates he had picked and placed them on the roughhewn wood table in the main atrium next to a bowl of overripe bananas, a testament to a lonely household. When is your family returning? he asked, pulling the cowl back from his head. His long auburn hair framed his bearded cheeks complimenting a fair-skin face, inset with startling blue eyes.

Emanuel twisted halfway towards the Tyrian, I am here alone for another week, but guests will arrive from time to time on business, or to keep me company. I have plenty of rooms and alcoves to accommodate two dozen people.

Caleb could see from the atrium a large octagonal central room. As they followed their host across the threshold, a small, slight woman with long flaxen hair braided down her back to her waist, came from one of the rooms with a welcoming smile. He saw by her garb that she was a servant.

This is Hanna, Emanuel gestured unceremoniously to the girl, She will see that your every need is met. He patted Kenan and Zephraim on their backs, Go with her now and she will make sure you have comfortable rooms.

Petros tossed a small handbag he was carrying to his oldest son and followed Emanuel to one of the comfort alcoves. Caleb, who traveled with no baggage, joined them. Hanna led the two boys to their night quarters.

How many businesses do you have now? asked Petros gruffly, glancing affectionately at his cousin. He slumped down hugely onto a stack of three plump cushions opposite Emanuel with a hearty groan. Caleb lay lithely on his side, stretching comfortably across the divan provided for Roman comfortable to those who prefer it.

I’ve acquired a small cloth dyeing business; only a score of workers, shrugged Emanuel, but it is almost as profitable as my other businesses, he added jovially, beaming at his cousin.

Another servant girl with auburn hair entered bearing a tray with three goblets of wine. She started at the sight of Caleb, a startled look of recognition quickly turning into uncertain curiosity. She set the tray on the table.

Emanuel twisted on his cushions looking up at the servant girl, Neariah, please light the bitumen flames. Nodding silently, she left to perform the chore. How is Andreu, he asked, sipping from his goblet, glancing at Petros over the rim.

Petros essayed with a smile, My brother is well. He spends more time with Rebbe than I do.

Caleb’s ears pricked up at hearing any mention of ben Joseph. He grabbed a goblet of wine from the tray. Holding the stem, he held the small half globe balanced near the crook of his other arm, watching Petros.

Emanuel noted the enthusiasm Caleb did not try to conceal. There is something about his face, he thought, glancing with interest at the Tyrian. He turned back to his cousin. Where is he teaching these days? he asked.

He and the other disciples fled Herod’s agents to Phoenicia, answered Petros, and presently, I don’t know their whereabouts.

Emanuel arched his brows, Is Magdalena with them?

Neariah quietly reentered the room cupping a small rushlight in her hands.

Petros watched her light the lamp bowl on the nightstand next to Caleb before answering. A rush of amber glow followed her as she glided like an apparition to the wall torch in the corner of the alcove, setting a flame to it as well before leaving the men to chat. Petros blinked in the new light and swung his head round to look at Emanuel, who was waiting good naturedly for his cousin to answer. She’s with him often. She sits at his feet and listens to his teachings, he answered. Drawing a stretch of hemp string from the folds of his robe, he drew his hair back, tying it at the back of the head.

Caleb guardedly took a draft of his wine so as to not to interrupt.

Petros rubbed his eyes for a moment before continuing, At least eight of us travel with him whenever he goes among the crowds. Yet, he seems to prefer her company to the disciples.

Caleb sat up halfway. Eight of you always travel with him? he blurted out.

Petros and Emanuel looked at him.

Ah! But we are being rude to our guest! exclaimed Emanuel, spreading his hands with sudden awareness.

No, no, Caleb protested, waving his hand, I did not mean to disrupt.

Emanuel waved back, protesting, Let’s talk of the events in the north after we eat.

The smell of cooked gliadin grains and meat emanated from a room towards the rear of the house. As if on cue, Neariah reappeared, announcing dinner would be served, her outstretched palm inciting them to move to the serving room. Caleb followed the two cousins and a few moments later the boys returned to join them. Everyone stood in a circle, all covering their eyes with their hands praying in unison. Following the blessing of the food they sat together the old way, upright and cross legged on the carpeted floor. Most Judeans scorned the Roman feasts as decadent and detested their manner of eating while lying on their sides.

The ebullient host ate lightly and watched his guests with satisfaction feeding his hungry guests. When all had finished the meal, sliced bananas in coconut syrup rounded out his hospitality. With bellies full, they ambled out to the patio garden just in time to catch a chaotic sky of lavender and pewter turning into dusk.

Hanna followed with a padded flaming bowl and placed it on the low, oval marble platform under the fig trees against the brick wall.

Caleb recognized the fragrant insectifuge added to the oil to repel the flying night creatures. Kenan came last carrying the scrolled parchments. Emanuel’s eyes lit up when Kenan laid them on the marble top. I see you’ve come upon one of the urns, he said affably, standing next to his eldest nephew. So far, no less than five urns have been brought to the city elders. Let’s take a look.

Petros and Caleb joined them as Kenan carefully unrolled the first scroll.

Zephraim was occupied climbing a trestle roped with thick vines.

I have seen this writing before, declared Caleb, narrowing his eyes at the parchment.

Petros turned to him, You can read this?

Caleb nodded, It’s archaic, but most of the language is known to me.

Petros looked anew at his young companion. From whom did you learn this? he asked, unable to disguise his admiration.

Caleb straightened the top edges of the parchment staring at the ancient text, The scribes at Tyre are well versed in… he said, pausing absently to translate the titulus as he answered Petros. None spoke. All watched Caleb reading, murmuring the Idumean words only vaguely recognizable to them. He straightened up abruptly. It is entitled ‘The Words of the Kindred Flesh’ and it’s probably from a hundred and fifty years ago. The scribes at Tyre possess only a portion of this doctrinal. You say five urns have been taken to the elders?

Emanuel nodded and clasped his hands behind his back. He peered closer at the parchment. His eyesight wasn’t as sharp as it used to be. He rubbed his eyes.

The community at Qumran, continued Caleb, rejected the second temple, teaching instead they were rightfully the newborn temple. He paused but all were listening. They believed, he continued, "they would be triumphant over the House of the Shammai and that one amongst them would reunite the fragmented Judeans. It speaks of the one doing wondrous things. In essence, his word becomes flesh of the people."

Petros gazed over the parchments lying before them with a faraway look, directing his attention elsewhere. He exchanged a glance with Emanuel, who knew what he was thinking. By the day following the next, he would be standing before one who drew large crowds to hear the same message. Caleb stared at him as if reading his mind.

Neariah unobtrusively left a tray of four obsidian goblets on the marble top, well away from the scrolls at the end of the table. She stole a glance at Caleb before gliding away as softly as she had come.

Emanuel handed a goblet to each of them. He twirled the half globe raising it closer to his nose. Galilean vintage, he said, winking at Petros, has no equal.

Caleb reacted by breathing in his own aromatic appraisal of the wine.

Emanuel raised the goblet to his guests, Shalom, he said.

Caleb was the last to disrobe. He had stayed a few minutes longer after Emanuel retired, leaving them all in the care of Hanna. She gently induced him to roll up the scrolls and come to the private caldarium to join the others. The steam rose forming glistening dew on his exposed skin when he joined Petros and his sons already immersed in the thermal waters.

Emanuel’s large, enclosed pool was fed by an underground spring running beneath it.

Caleb sat on the submerged clay bench letting the warmth of the steam offset the chill of the night air. In moments his knotted muscles were loose from their hard day of travel.

Hanna entered with two soft cloths to buff the boys dry and take them to their rooms. Kenan stumbled as he stepped out of the pool, water dripping from his hairless buttocks. Between the wine and the luxuriant bath, his equilibrium was off. He dried haphazardly and pulled his robe over his still moist skin.

Caleb glanced at his youthful nakedness and then averted his eyes.

Hanna dried and robed Zephraim before leading them both through the darkened house to their room.

The two men sat with their eyes closed lulled by the warm water.

Petros shifted on his bench causing the water to ripple, a small rupture in the entombed silence. Caleb’s natural instinct to gauge movement fluttered his eyes but shut them just as rapidly, his face never losing its relaxed pose. The two Roman lamp stands flared and hissed with every incoming draft circulated by the roof vent. Through narrowed, sleepy eyes, Petros gazed at shadowy shapes flickering across the sandstone walls for a few moments. When he spoke, his guttural words cut through the ghostly steam with quiet authority, Many wish to witness the truth before they believe it.

Caleb opened his eyes, looking directly at Petros sitting in a halo of wispy steam.

The man you seek, he continued, opens eyes shut to the truth, although, one should take his words with a grain of salt.

Caleb sat forward resting his elbows on his knees.

Petros splashed water over his chest, He speaks in fables, absurdities, and figures of speech. I don’t always know what he’s saying but I like that he says it to me.

Caleb frowned at him, his blue eyes piercing the steam between them.

Petros stroked his beard with water dripping from his fingers. His face relaxed into a grin, He makes one and all feel that way, he said, shrugging immodestly.

Caleb’s eyes probed Petros’s face to see if there was anything to read into his words. Whatever he meant, he saw that Petros was unabashed about his feelings. It keyed him up to think that any man could have that kind of brunt effect on another. Does he uphold the law? he asked Petros.

The huge Galilean had a hunch that the Tyrian knew more about ben Joseph than he was letting on. Leaning forward, elbows on knees too, he answered, He teaches the end is near at hand and he is held to be a prophet, or a deceiver, and by some people as out of his mind. The big man’s eyes crinkled with a smile. If it wasn’t for his obvious greater knowledge of the texts than the elders, he would be held up to mockery by some. He tells his censors the true nature of the law, but not all believe him to be a rebbe.

I heard you say he draws a crowd. Caleb said, Surely scores of people must believe him.

Aye, too numerous, I think, replied Petros. Now and again the crowds are not easily coped with, but I think he’s not shy of the peril.

What does he teach them?

Petros clasped his hands in front of him. He teaches them to follow the spirit rather than the letter of the law.

Given that you say he carries more knowledge than the elders, mused Caleb, what other reason is he so broadly received?

He heals the sick and the lame, said Petros, simply. He paused to gauge any response from Caleb. All wish to touch him as if he had magic, he concluded.

Caleb considered this for a moment and said, The scroll speaks of such a man. I learned as much from the scribes at Tyre. The few passages I read tonight say as much and more.

And more? said Petros. How so?

The Logia of the Kindred Flesh, answered Caleb, speaks of his close association with a cadre of men, who travel far and wide with him. It spoke of a special closeness between them not found in other communities.

Petros lowered his eyes and said nothing.

It also speaks, continued Caleb, "of women companions who are closer to the Rebbe than any man in the community. I was reading about the tensions this founded when Hanna