Mary of Nazareth by Marek Halter Page A

her on. “Your father’s up here, near the stockade.”
    But now Miriam, Obadiah, and his comrades hesitated, struck dumb with terror. Their eyes were accustomed enough to the darkness to make out the horror around them.
    The crosses rose like a forest in hell. Some had rotted and fallen, bringing the corpses down with them. Others were so close together that, in places, the crosspieces holding the prisoners’ arms overlapped.
    Some crosses were still bare. But, at their feet, skeletons hung grotesquely, long since devoid of anything that could be called human.
    Only then did Miriam become aware of the stench, and the bones and human carcasses that littered the ground beneath her feet.
    They were startled by little growls as wild cats scattered, and a rustling in the air as night birds, carrion eaters disturbed by their sudden presence, flew off with a menacing softness.
    For a moment, Miriam did not think she could go on. But Obadiah, still holding her hand, leaped forward. “Quick! We don’t have any time to waste!”
    They ran, which did them good. As promised, Obadiah made his way without hesitation between the crosses.
    â€œThere!” he said, pointing.
    Miriam knew he was right. In spite of the darkness, she recognized Joachim.
    â€œFather!”
    Joachim did not reply.
    â€œHe’s asleep,” Obadiah assured her. “A whole day up there must really knock you out!”
    As Miriam was still calling to her father, they heard cries and the noise of a fight from the direction of the stockade.
    â€œDamn it!” Obadiah cursed. “They did leave some guards here after all! Quick, you others, help me.”
    He dragged two of his comrades to the foot of the cross and jumped nimbly onto their shoulders.
    â€œDo the same with the other crosses close by,” he ordered the rest of his band. “Some of these people must still be alive.”
    Miriam saw him climb the cross with the agility of a monkey, his knife between his teeth. In the blink of an eye, he reached Joachim, and gently moved his head. “Wake up, Joachim. Your daughter has come to save you!”
    Joachim muttered something unintelligible.
    â€œWake up, Joachim!” Obadiah said again, more insistently now. “This is no time to take a nap! I’m going to cut your bonds, and if you don’t help me, you’re going to fall and smash your face.”
    Miriam could hear moans of pain from the nearest crosses, where the other boys were at work, and angry cries and the clatter of metal from the stockade, where the fight was still in progress.
    â€œMy father must be wounded,” she said to Obadiah. “Cut his bonds and we’ll hold him!”
    â€œNo point, he’s waking up at last!”
    â€œMiriam! Miriam, is it you I hear?” The voice was hoarse and weary.
    â€œYes, father, it’s me…”
    â€œBut how can it be? And who are you?”
    â€œLater, Joachim,” Obadiah muttered, busy cutting the thick ropes. “We have to get out of here as quickly as we can, or things will take a turn for the worse….”
    Indeed, as Miriam and Obadiah’s comrades helped Joachim down from the cross, Barabbas and his companions came running.
    â€œThe bastards!” Barabbas growled.
    His tunic was ripped, and his eyes still shone from the fight. In his hand, he held not a knife, but a spatha, the much-feared long Roman sword.
    â€œThere were still four of them there, in a tent. They won’t see Jerusalem again! They made us a present of their arms. But I think there was also a man at the gate of the fortress. We have to get out of here before they come back in force.”
    â€œWho are you?” Joachim muttered, in a daze.
    His legs could no longer carry him, and every time he tried to move his arms he groaned. He lay now in Miriam’s arms, and she was supporting his head.
    Barabbas gave him a big smile. “Barabbas, at your service. Your