The Dovekeepers - Alice Hoffman [153]
Beneath my shawl, I still had the bow upon my back.
FROM OUR MOUNTAINTOP, residents often saw soldiers from the legion during the growing heat of Sivan. More and more exploratores were being sent to examine our mountain, gathering on the rocky floor below. They were reconnaissance soldiers whose only mission was to seek out enemies and report back to their generals. The Romans had long been aware that we were here, as they’d known about Machaerus and the other fortresses that were held by Zealots. We were far from Jerusalem, and so they had ignored us, but our fame had grown and stories about our glory had reached Roman ears. There had been more and more talk of our rebellion in the markets of towns throughout the region. Shir tishbohot, songs of praise, were offered for us, and those who celebrated us denounced Rome in whispers and then in louder tones. People said our mountain was invisible and that the Sicarii had used the Hebrew alphabet to call a curtain over us, a fabric constructed of air and vapor that separated heaven from earth. They said that the throne of our Lord could be seen from our towers. Any man who ruled here would rule the world.
Soldiers from the legion might come to survey us, but all they would see was how impossible it would be to mount an attack. Ben Ya’ir sent out word that, when the exploratores came, we should stay in our chambers so they could not count our number. Perhaps they would think we were stronger than we were, and possessed thousands of warriors, rather than a village left to old men and women and children each time our men went on raids. Let them look all they wanted. All they would see was the mountain where God’s glory had sent us, a rock so impenetrable they could never bring us down. Some of our boys sent stones falling, skittering down as a warning, and they laughed as the soldiers scattered below.
I did not laugh to see the white tunics of the Tenth Legion or the banner of the wild boar. I felt a chill come over me. In truth our people were no match for Roman soldiers, who had been trained for one thing, to be a machine of death. Our warriors were best when they slunk about like wolves, striking enemies in the dark. The rebels’ only hope of success was an attack that was unexpected, when thanks to God’s grace, their quickness and ferocity might win out over might. Against well-armored, organized troops, who had so much experience of warfare, our people were woefully unprepared. Our fathers and brothers were freedom fighters, not trained soldiers. Unlike my sister’s father, the men at Masada had not been warriors from the moment of their birth, each with a horse already chosen and a knife in his hand. They had been priests and bakers and scholars, their weapons knives and arrows and rocks, not bronze and iron. We were nothing against the relentless power of the Roman Empire.
WHEN OUR WARRIORS decided they would track a group of exploratores so they might discover how close the legion was to our mountain, Yael gave me a token to present to Amram, a slip of blue fabric, the color of heaven, and of God’s glory, and of His throne.
Amram laughed and slipped the fabric close to his heart. “We won’t be apart for long,” he said, recognizing the charm. “My sister has seen to that.”
He told me that the fabric would lead him to me no matter how far he might journey. He cupped his hands around my face and kissed me. In his arms I had a surge of fear, for what was between us was already over, despite the token. I went to the wall to watch him descend with the warriors. I had no idea that my brother planned to set forth with them until I found my mother there, beside herself with worry.
“He’s nothing but a boy,” she worried. She had looked ill of late, refusing her meals, keeping to herself. Now she was ashen. “Why would they do this? Why would he go?”
I was too guilt-ridden to answer. The warriors believed that Adir had been