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“even under the Romans. There is the life of the slave, the life of the collaborator, and the life of the bandit, but they are also the ways of death. We must seek a new way.”
    â€œWhat would that be?” I asked. “Should we retreat to the desert like the Pure Ones?”
    â€œNo,” said Jesus. “Even they have chosen a slave’s life.”
    I felt something hit the top of my foot. I looked down to see a red spot. Another drop of blood fell from Jesus’ fingertips. His hand must have been cut when Judas snatched the dagger from him.
    Nathan gave a final gasp, shuddered, and died. Sarah sobbed into James’ shoulder. “Sarah, we must take him inside the house now to be prepared for burial,” James said.
    Jesus whispered to me, “Do you hear our brother, Thomas? He speaks of caring for the dead while he knows nothing of the living.”
    â€œAnd what is it that you know?” I asked. I had never watched someone die. Despite his foolishness, Nathan had been a brave young man, hardened beyond his years and the best wrestler in Nazareth; yet one deft stroke of a blade from an unjust hand had shown me how futile these bandit efforts were.
    Leah appeared at Sarah’s side and knelt in the pool of blood. Perhaps she had been nearby all along, and I hadn’t noticed. I remembered that she was Sarah’s and Nathan’s cousin. Sarah turned from James and leaned into Leah’s embrace. The two of them cried together while Nathan’s mother stroked his lips as if trying to entice a breath. I felt enormous grief for him and for his family, for our people, and for the generations that might never trod this land. The terrifying prospect that any and all of my people’s assaults against the Romans were as doomed as Nathan’s slapped me in the face, and I could not understand why this had not occurred to Jesus as well.
    A few cubits from us, Judas sank to his knees and vomited.
    I grasped Jesus’ shoulders and drew him close to me. “You do not have a new way. No one does. But something must be done—maybe not Nathan’s way, but at least he tried something. How many more Nathans will die while you spout proverbs? If you devise a plan, I’ll follow you. But now is not the time for empty talk.”
    Jesus tightened his face in confusion and placed his hand upon my lips as if examining the strange source of my sharp words. I knew even then that a plan was taking form in his mind, a plan that Jesus himself would never fully understand. I knew even then that I had been wrong. His talk was anything but empty.
    â€œThomas,” Leah said. “Help us.”
    James was holding Nathan under his arms. I took the body by the ankles, and we carried it into the house where Sarah and her mother lived. Sarah and her mother spread a sheet upon the table, and we laid the body on top. Leah, her mother, and grandmother entered to help with the preparations. The women, now calm, began to undress Nathan with the same disinterest they might show at a loom.
    Leah noticed me lingering and came to me. “Thank you, Thomas.” She touched my cheek, and my face went numb as if from a bee sting. I imagined her naked, and I longed for her arms around my back, and my lips at her throat. I trembled but did not feel guilty for the impure thoughts. Did she have any idea what I was thinking? She nudged my chest with both hands. “You must go now, Thomas.” I backed out, my eyes locked onto hers, and left James inside.
    The street had cleared except for a clutch of five or six men staring at the dirt while shaking their heads and clucking their tongues. I saw Judas down the street walking towards home. Jesus stood alone, watching me approach.
    When I got to him, he kissed my cheek. “You are right,” he said. “Now follow me, Brother. Home.”
    We had grown up in a climate of fear, having heard countless stories of Roman cruelty. We had seen