Resistant: Revolt of the Jews
Chronicles of the Apocalypse
Book Three
By Brian Godawa
Resistant: Revolt of the Jews
Chronicles of the Apocalypse Book Three
2nd Edition c
Copyright © 2018, 2021 Brian Godawa
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without prior written permission, except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.
Warrior Poet Publishing
www.warriorpoetpublishing.com
ISBN: 9798710886342 (hardcover)
ISBN: 978-1-942858-35-5 (paperback)
Scripture quotations taken from The Holy Bible: English Standard Version. Wheaton: Standard Bible Society, 2001.
Prologue
Judea
Spring, AD 67
The Jewish revolt against Rome began in AD 66 and climaxed when the rebel Eleazar stopped the daily sacrifice on behalf of Caesar in the holy temple.
In response, Nero Caesar sent Syrian governor Cestius Gallus with a Roman army to Jerusalem. But for a mysterious reason, Cestius turned away from his siege. He was killed on his retreat to Caesarea Maritima.
Temporary victory over Rome has empowered the Jewish revolt. A new Jerusalem government has been organized to deal with the return of Rome and the coming war.
But not all has gone well for the Jews. Tens of thousands of them have been killed in a civil war with Greek citizens of Judea that tears apart the land.
In Jerusalem, the new rulers are divided between the pro-Roman high priesthood and the anti-Roman Zealots, Sicarii, and other factions.
The fanatic Eleazar ben Simon holds the inner temple hostage.
Former high priest Ananus ben Ananus, now the supreme commander of Judea, wants to stop the revolt and submit to Rome but he does not have the support of the populace.
The Pharisee Joseph ben Matthias is regional commander of Galilee. He is headquartered with his army at Jotapata, a well-fortified city in Galilee, awaiting the arrival of the Roman war machine.
Joseph’s rival John of Gischala holds onto his home town and several Galilean cities in defiance of Joseph, dividing the Jewish forces against each other.
Vespasian, general legate of the Roman army sent by Nero, has arrived in Ptolemais on the Mediterranean coast near Galilee.
Vespasian’s son Titus has marched Legion XV overland from Alexandria, Egypt, to meet his father in Ptolemais and initiate the campaign of war against Judea.
The abomination of desolation (the Roman army) is now set up in the holy land. The die is cast.
And from the time that the daily sacrifice is taken away, and the abomination of desolation is set up, there shall be one thousand two hundred and ninety days.
Daniel 12:11
The 1290 Days begins.
Chapter 1
Mount Carmel,
The Coast of Palestine
April, AD 67
The Egyptian god Serapis made his way into the foothills of southern Mount Carmel on the coast of Palestine. The gods of the nations had been called to assembly on the peak of the mountain range that jutted out into the Mediterranean. Serapis was secretly meeting with Poseidon first before joining the others. He had received a request from the Greek sea god to meet in a cave to discuss an offer of covert alliance. Poseidon had only told Serapis that he had a plan that would ensure the two of them a place of power in the aftermath of the coming war.
Serapis was willing to consider Poseidon’s offer. As a hybrid Watcher of both Greece and Egypt, Serapis was a liaison of the two kingdoms. When Alexander the Great had conquered Egypt centuries ago, he had established Serapis in power over the underworld. This was why Serapis looked Greek with his ethnic muscular stature, flowing curly hair, and beard, but wore Egyptian robes and ornaments. He looked like Hercules in Alexandrian garb. He carried an Egyptian scepter that doubled as a heavenly weapon and was accompanied by Cerberus, the three-headed hound of Hades. If this was a trick or an ambush planned by Poseidon, the sea god would be sorry he ever considered such foolishness.
But Serapis doubted such betrayal. The two Watchers were the patron gods of the most powerful legions in the Roman armies now assembled in Palestine. Poseidon was the mascot of the Roman general Vespasian’s Greek Legion X, and Serapis was patron of Titus’s Alexandrian Legion XV. Together they represented the most significant principalities in Apollyon’s coalition forces. Together they commanded the most powerful of the legions.
The huge beast beside Serapis was as muscular as his master. Its wolf-like heads were complimented by a tail that was a venomous serpent. The myth was that Hercules had captured the canine guardian to use for his purposes, another connection to the Greek hero. The blending of myths across nations was a commonplace tactic of the gods. The various Gentile nations worshipped the same spiritual entities behind different religious façades. The Watchers were happy to accommodate the narrative as long as it pointed away from Yahweh.
What the pathetic, deluded humans failed to appreciate was that their gods were actually the fallen Sons of God from Yahweh’s heavenly host. Because humanity continued to worship the host of heaven instead of their creator, Yahweh had allotted those rebellious Gentile nations and their land as an inheritance to the gods of the nations, their Watchers. Humanity was enslaved to the principalities and powers they worshipped. But Yahweh had kept one single people on one parcel of land for himself: Jacob, the people of the land of Israel.
But now Apollyon had used Nero Caesar to gather the nations in Palestine in order to consume the land and destroy the Jews. It was Apollyon’s bid for total dominion. That final battle would determine the hierarchy of power within the pantheon. Serapis wondered just what plans Poseidon had for the two of them grabbing that power. He wondered as well just how he might use Poseidon and betray the sea god to Apollyon to ensure his own superior position.
Cerberus stopped, sniffing the air. He growled.
Serapis bent down. “What is it, boy? What do you smell?”
The three canine heads returned to their forward movement. The desert contained a mixture of predator and prey whose odors intermixed and flowed through the air currents. The hound of Hades could smell them all. But an aggressive yelp confirmed to Serapis that he had picked up the god’s scent.
Serapis remained on the alert as he approached the designated cave hidden in the rocky terrain, a warm desert breeze at his back. He noticed a tri-fold scraping mark at the cave’s entrance. It was made by Poseidon’s trident, a mighty weapon that the god of the sea wielded with ruthless skill that garnered the grudging respect of Serapis. His conspirator was waiting for him inside.
Cerberus led Serapis forward into the cave. They walked through the darkness, their preternatural eyes able to see as clearly as in daylight.
It was a deep cave that led down into a small cavern with a pool of water and large stalactites above. Serapis spotted Poseidon sitting on a rock about fifty feet away at the pool’s edge, trident in hand. Cerberus grunted approval, then snorted. Serapis knew that the sea god’s fishy odor was strong to the hound’s sensitive noses. Serapis smiled with amusement, wondering if the mighty dog would be tempted to try to eat the fishy deity.
The dog-wolf at his side, Serapis walked along the water’s edge towards Poseidon. Cerberus stopped, and this time all three of its heads snorted. Then they began coughing. The beast backed up in a choking fit, whining.
Poseidon looked their way and got up. Starting towards them, he shouted out, “What is wrong?”
Just then Serapis noticed the dusty air stirred up by the hound. He sniffed and immediately recognized it: chili peppers. The dirt had been laden with crushed chili pepper flakes. In the hound’s ultra-sensitive noses, they would be like burning fire.
As Poseidon got closer, Serapis saw that he was not the sea god after all, but the archangel Gabriel disguised as the sea god. Gabriel had masked his own scent from Cerberus by wearing Poseidon’s garments.
Just then the pool along which Serapis walked exploded. Three archangels burst from the water: Remiel, Saraqael, and Raguel. As they fell upon the new arrivals, Cerberus stumbled, momentarily incapacitated by three sets of watery eyes, burning noses, and choking throats. But in a moment, he would be clear of the patch of contaminated dirt. Then the archangels would regret their dirty trick. The dog-wolf growled angrily through vicious fangs.
Unfortunately, the beast had not bothered to look up. A large stalactite plummeted from above with deadly accuracy, impaling the dog-wolf through his torso. Cerberus let out a ghastly howl that was stopped short by the air leaving his punctured lung. The rocky missile had been dropped from above by Uriel, who now leapt to the ground, landing on bended knee next to the hound.
Serapis swung his scepter at Uriel. But his skills were no match for the small, blonde angel. Uriel pulled one of his two swords and casually deflected the god’s advances. The angel was the smallest of seven archons, but he was the most skilled. The truth was, this spiteful little miscreant of Yahweh could take Serapis alone. That so many archons were here so close to their enemy’s camp meant this was a trap of overwhelming importance.
Serapis swung his weapon again and again with increasing futility. From the corner of his eye, he saw the naked and bound body of the real Poseidon dragged from the water by one of the angels.
He probably got the same fake message of conspiracy from these loathsome abominable archons, Serapis thought.
Before he could think any further, he blacked out from a blow to his head.
Chapter 2
Jordan Valley
Cassandra resituated herself on her horse, striving to find a comfortable position for her sore muscles. She saw that her husband Alexander was looking at her from his own mount and smiled at him through gritted teeth. She was exhausted from a full day of travel, and the sun was now setting. But it was still another twenty miles to their destination, Jerusalem, so they would soon need to find a place to camp for the night.
Their small company had been traveling for the past three days along the Jordan River from the city of Pella up north. It should have only taken two days to cover the forty miles on their horses, but their pace was slowed by a couple of donkeys pulling two supply wagons.
Cassandra had married Alexander just four months ago with the understanding that she would assist him in giving medical help and the Gospel to Jerusalem residents in anticipation of the coming war with Rome. The Christians of the city had all safely fled to Pella in obedience to Jesus’s command to flee to the mountains when Jerusalem was surrounded by armies. The armies had subsequently left, but they were about to return with a vengeance.
Cassandra and Alexander were essentially walking into a deathtrap. She had avoided marriage because of the great tribulation. A married person had divided interests between their Lord and their beloved. And a married person had more to lose in a world of suffering. Yet, here she was, a thirty-two year old married woman, risking everything with her husband for the sake of the Gospel.
Through their journey together over the past few years, Cassandra had fallen deeply in love with Alexander, in love with his heart of compassion and his hands of healing as a physician. She thanked Jesus daily for using her, despite her weaknesses, to lead Alexander to the heart of Messiah and his Church, the heavenly Jerusalem, the remnant, the true Israel of God.
Alexander’s compassion had in turn convicted Cassandra of her sin of hatred towards her own people, the Jews, who had martyred her parents because they had embraced Jesus as Messiah. She was now on her way back into the furnace of fire to help those upon whom she had previously prayed death.
Judgment was coming upon these people and their holy city and temple, but vengeance was in Yahweh’s hands, not hers. Together she and Alexander hoped to rescue as many as possible, not from the earthly wrath to come, but from the far greater danger of eternal destruction away from the presence of the Lord and his glory. Jesus had warned this generation of Jews over and over again that their rejection of him as their Messiah would result in them being cast into outer darkness where there was weeping and gnashing of teeth—the wrath to come.
And now that time of destruction was at hand. Previously, she longed for it. Now she dreaded it. She prayed they could save as many souls as possible before their bodies were destroyed.
The two wagons were filled with medical supplies for the people of the city. Such supplies needed to be stockpiled because once the Romans arrived and surrounded the city, the Jews inside would have no access to outside resources. This precious cargo would be all the medical supplies Alexander and his party would have to work with.
Alexander smiled back at Cassandra, but she caught a flicker of sadness in his gaze and wondered how prepared they really were to meet the needs of others when they themselves were suffering. She knew the source of his sadness. Alexander wanted children, even in this dangerous world that threatened their survival. She did not, and after four months of marriage she had not yet shown any signs of conception. The disagreement had distanced them from one another. They shared a vision for the kingdom of God, but they did not share a vision for whether or not a family should be started at the end of the age when all the prophecies of God’s cup of wrath were about to be poured out on the land of Israel.
Cassandra loved Alexander dearly, and his devotion to her was unquestionable. But greater men had been compromised by their hopes for legacy. Their very own father of the faith, Abraham, had united with Sarah’s handmaiden to produce an heir. That momentary lapse of faith had resulted in Ishmael, whose ancestors forever haunted the people of Isaac and Jacob.
Would Alexander be tempted to such compromise should Cassandra never conceive? Would their marriage even survive should she prove barren?
Not that four months was long enough to be already worrying about barrenness. But neither Alexander nor Cassandra had been young when they married. And if to Cassandra each month that passed without conceiving was a sign of God’s blessing, she knew how much disappointment this brought Alexander.
Cassandra told herself to focus on something else. She thought of the two others who rode just ahead on their horses. Elihu, her lifelong Egyptian friend, formerly named Demetrius, remained engaged in an intense but private discussion with Michael, the mysterious, handsome warrior.
Michael had been in charge of the forty Kharabu warriors who watched over the Christians at Pella like guardian angels. There had even been joking comments thrown about that some of the Kharabu actually were angels in disguise because of their seemingly unbeatable fighting skills.
Ever since Elihu had changed his name and announced his calling as a prophet at Cassandra’s wedding, he had become a different man, bent on a mission to get to Jerusalem to join Moshe, the old prophet. He believed that their calling was to be Yahweh’s Two Witnesses to the Jews in fulfillment of the Apocalypse. Michael seemed particularly protective of Elihu and often spoke in secret with him for hours.
Cassandra’s gaze returned to the world around her. They were on a well-worn road along the Jordan. The vegetation was lush, the rushing Jordan river to their left, the Dead Sea just ahead, and the mountain pass to their right that would lead them the final twenty miles to the holy city. They would pass Jericho before tackling the hills of Judea.
We should be stopping any moment, she told herself as they turned onto the western road to Jerusalem. She again adjusted her seat on the horse, her back stiff and haunches aching. She considered the pain to be training for much worse to come.
At least it was spring, and the cold had thawed. At least they were protected by Michael, the mightiest warrior she had ever seen in her life. And she had been around the entire world.
She noticed Michael stop talking to Elihu. They had halted. Cassandra and Alexander caught up with them.
She asked, “What is wrong?”
Michael quietly gestured with his hand to stop. “We have company.”
Cassandra saw three men on horses blocking the road up ahead. Dressed in weather-beaten nomadic clothes, they were unshaven, filthy, and carried swords in their hands.
“Brigands,” she muttered.
Alexander drew protectively closer to her.
Cassandra looked at Michael to see what he would do. She remained more curious than frightened, since whoever these bad men were, they had no idea of the warrior they were facing down.
The three brigands trotted forward to meet Michael and Elihu.
“We want no trouble,” Michael said to the strangers.
Cassandra smiled to herself. What a smart actor Michael is. Play fearful. Draw the victims in.
She glanced at Alexander, who returned her smile.
“Well then, this should go rather smoothly,” said the leader, a deep-throated man with a scarred-up face and an eye bandage. Experienced in battle. But not as skilled as Kharabu.
It was at that moment that Cassandra heard a loud rustling as the brush on both sides of the road exploded. The additional bandits who had been hidden there rushed forward, about twenty of them, circling the company of four. They were all gruff-looking, undernourished but with meanness in their eyes.
Several of them had bows pointed at Michael.
“What’s in the carts?” demanded the ugly leader.
“Medical supplies for the sick of Jerusalem,” said Michael.
“Well, imagine our luck. We just happen to be sick ourselves.”
Several bandits came up to the two carts and led the donkeys swiftly away onto another path that led north, perhaps to the brigands’ camp.
“Thank you for your generosity,” said the leader.
A half-dozen bandits drew close to Michael. They must have intuited that he was the biggest threat to their intentions.
Cassandra became confused. Why isn’t Michael stopping them? Is it fear for our safety? Michael could take care of those foolish six men surrounding him, but by then, Alexander and I would be dead or taken captive. He must be waiting for the right moment.
She thought she would help with her verbal skills, but before she could speak up, Elihu beat her to the punch, “We are Jews like you.”
The leader looked at Elihu with surprise. The young prophet added, “Why do you rob your own people, the poor? The Zealots and Sicarii fight the rich ruling class, Greeks are killing Jews, and Rome is coming to kill us all. Yet you rob innocent, defenseless fellow Jews.”
Well, he has suffered no delay in exercising his prophetic gift, Cassandra thought.
The one-eyed leader laughed. He looked straight at Michael and said, “I don’t think you are so innocent or defenseless.”
Elihu replied, “The Son of Man is coming in his Father’s glory with his angels, and he will reward each person according to what they have done.”
Cassandra felt a chill of fear. Had Elihu gone too far? Had he just made it more difficult for Michael to take their assailants by surprise? Let us hope God will back him up with deliverance.
The leader became deadly serious. “We are hungry. We do not care for your religious scruples. But I see you are trouble for us after all.”
He nodded to the men surrounding Michael. One of them swung a rope lasso around the warrior’s torso and pulled him to the ground with a thud. Immediately the others kicked and pummeled him with clubs.
Cassandra froze in fear. Why was Michael doing nothing? She could hear him grunting in pain beneath the beating. She couldn’t watch.
The only thing she could conclude was that there were simply too many of them for Michael to vanquish.
But if Elihu was Yahweh’s prophet, why wasn’t God saving them?
She wondered if Elihu would temporarily ignore his vow of putting down the sword, pick it up, and join Michael in self-defense.
But Elihu didn’t move.
The other bandits then came up to Alexander and Elihu, pulling them from their horses to the ground. Would God not protect his own prophet?
Cassandra heard a grunt of interest and saw a bandit looking at her with hunger. She prayed, “Lord Jesus, help us.”
But before the bandit could get his hands on her, a stone hit him in the head and dropped him to the ground. She heard the sound of rocks whizzing in the air. Several more bandits fell to the ground, others gripping their guts or legs in pain.
Slingshots. Someone was slinging with deadly accuracy.
Cassandra looked upward towards the ridge from which the rocks came and spotted the slingers, a dozen of them in Jewish garb.
Then a couple dozen more rushed from the bushes with swords. She recognized these young men in their peasant robes and haircuts. They were Essenes from Qumran.
The surprise had created chaos.
The bandits scrambled and fled down the path taken earlier by their stolen donkey and carts.
The ugly leader whistled, and the horsemen followed their comrades, disappearing into the darkening twilight.
Cassandra jumped off her horse and moved toward Michael to see if he was still alive.
She recognized the young monk standing over Michael. It was Aaron, the seventeen-year old Essene who she had met in Jerusalem a year ago. The young man had helped them find the home of the Christians when Moshe had been nearly beaten to death. He had helped them though he wasn’t a Christian. And now he was helping them again.
Alexander had moved even more quickly than Cassandra, and by the time she reached Michael, her husband was kneeling beside the warrior to check his wounds. But already, Michael was sitting up, his hand raised to wave off Alexander’s ministrations. Cassandra could see no blood, no bruises, no scratches. How could that be? She had seen the bandits thrashing him without restraint. He could not have shielded himself so effectively.
“Why did you not fight back?” she asked. “I don’t understand. You are a mighty warrior. Some of us even joke that you are a guardian angel.”
He said, “Angels won’t always rescue you, you know. But that doesn’t mean God isn’t at work.”
He looked up and grasped Aaron’s wrist. Aaron helped him up. “Sometimes it’s suffering that disarms the enemy. Distracts them from the real deliverance.”
The analogy was of Christ. He had fooled the principalities and powers of this present darkness with his death on the cross. They had thought they’d conquered him because they had been distracted by their expectations of a military messiah. They had not expected a suffering servant. They had expected an earthly kingdom, not a heavenly one. They’d expected power, not sacrifice. And in their distraction, Jesus had risen from the dead and ascended to heaven dragging those powers behind him in a triumphal procession of victory.
Aaron joined in. “Those fools were so focused on you as their prey, they didn’t see us coming.”
Elihu said, “I see your fellow monks have become quite accurate with the sling.”
Aaron said, “We were trained by a good warrior, a good man.” He was referring to Simon bar Giora, the fugitive brigand said to be hiding out at Masada in the south.
Cassandra said, “I thought Qumran was a peaceful community.”
Aaron said, “We are divided. Some of us believe in the deliverance of angels and messiahs. Others believe we must fight alongside them.”
Cassandra was still stunned by Michael’s lack of wounds. She asked him, “How is it that you are not damaged?”
Michael smiled. “Would you prefer I be?”
The young men around them laughed. She said, “No. I’m sorry. I should be grateful you are alive and safe. Forgive me.”
She saw Alexander next to her and hugged him, clinging desperately to him.
Alexander asked, “What about the carts?”
“The carts are long gone,” Michael responded. “It is night, and I am not going to leave you three to follow them to the basecamp of who knows how many more bandits.”
Alexander said, “We will be destitute without the medical supplies.”
“God will supply our needs,” said Michael.
Cassandra stared at the warrior, still incredulous that he was unscathed by the beating he had received. He gave her a knowing wink, and she looked away. Maybe there was more to those angel jokes than she at first thought.
Aaron asked, “Are you on your way to Jerusalem?”
“Yes,” said Elihu.
“May we accompany you? We have much to speak of.”
Cassandra and the other three glanced at each other with approval.
“Why not?” said Elihu.
Much to speak of? thought Cassandra. What did this sandy monk want to speak about?
Michael said, “The night is upon us, but Jericho is a few miles hence. We can stay safely inside its walls for the night.”