Open Accounts
The cliffs of the Khoron valley were always considered to be the best running tracks in all Judea. Plateaued on top, with solid rock under foot and refreshing hill-country breeze, they were irresistible to runners across the land. Things got better once you ran your fill and reached the vineyards- plump, juicy and honeyed grapes hanging heavy from vines, supported only barely by well-placed stalks waited for you, along a strong cup of wine mixed with what the locals claim to be the coolest and purest spring water (“living water” as was the expression) on either side of the Jordan.
Such land was a wonderful training grounds for the Skirmishers of the Beth-Khoron Company. Raised almost a thousand years ago to fight in the Idumean War, it was one of the last of the old companies who still practiced the fierce discipline that overthrew Tyrant Antipater and Johanan the Usurper. Even officially non-combatant officers had to run their track every day after their morning prayers. Any flab or failure to run your course or shoot your target would mean a cut to your pay, or even banishment from the company.
This is the reason Judah the Treasurer found it no challenge to run from his desk at the market colonnade to the vineyards. In fact, he counted on his ability to cover the distance in less than ten minutes, to allow him a little more time to work, a full hour after others had already left.
After stepping off the last of the cobbled streets of the town he stood on the grass, inhale deeply the fresh air coming down from the hills, and ran.
Running! What a precious gift it is! Let the asses walk, while the noble stallion runs! Running was the privilege of the free, the strong, those of clean conscious and clear mind. Judah took in the pure hill-county air in short, furtive breaths.
He finally stopped besides the Pilgrims’-Road. Well maintained, in that stretch, at the expense of the Company, it separated the town and its freeholders’ fields from the Company’s vineyards upon the green hills. It laid in a decline, not steep enough to create an imapssable gorge, but just enogh so it was neccesary for the company to bare the rock and carve steps into it.
the Pilgrim's Road was empty, very usual for the season - far enough into the Summer so that the last stragglers from the Feast of Shabu'ot were far gone, but not enough to start the trickle of pilgrims trying to get in early for that of Tabernacles. There was only one man on the road. He didn't seem to be a pilgrim. He had only one animal with him - a well-laiden mule with sad eyes and a hungry look, searching unsuccesfully for some weeds in the cracks of the road. No luck- the Judean Summer is dry and dusty, even the smallest seeds had died and been swept away long ago.
The mule gave out a cry, something between a whine and a bray, and collapsed on his side. Judah rushed down the hill as fast as he could "Hello! Do you need help?"
The master of the poor beast had turned around. "Ssshalom!" he cried forcing out the consonat SH, revealing his rare use thereof. "Blessings upon this place and its dwellers!" He might be a stranger, thought Judah. Probably a Greek, judging by his accent, but he had bothered to learn some manners. "And blessed be the wayfarer! what happened to that mule?" he was now terribly close and saw that the animal was still alive, breathing heavily, exposing old whip scars to the sun. "What is that?" Judah asked with disgust "Is that the way animals are treated in your place? to whip a mule at the belly?" The stranger was not phased by this reproach.
"I have bought it in Alexandria like that, he is Lybian. They do that to toughen them up. I know it's an abominable practice but I needed the poor thing. Look," he showed
the dismayed Judah "I don't even have a whip, just this old switch I picked up from the way-side. See? no fresh wounds, just old scars." He sighed. "Wherever we go, people refused to sell us any fodder or bread the momet they see these. They spit at my feet and curse at me, you are one of the few who even talked to me".
"The mercies of the wicked are cruelty", quote the Treasurer, "forgive me, no man is without faults, for suspecting you for that which you did not do." He looked at the mule and its master. "Have you eaten anything today? and did he? I am going to a meal, you can join me".
The traveler tapped on his belly, "I ate the last of my hardtack this morning, and let him graze, but Poleimon is a big mule and needs more than grass. As for myself.. I would gladly come and sit at meat with you."
Judah approached the animal and streched his arm to feel the saddle- straps. The mule snapped his neck, almost biting Juda's hand. "Agape, Poleimon, agape" murmured its master, scratching gently under the beast's jaw, "I am sorry, he doesn't like strangers". "I can understand", answered Judah.