Everywhere we turned, it seemed the true crop of Galilee was neither wheat nor barley nor even the grapes of the northern heights, but hunger and discontent, the burden of Rome's taxes seeding the soil like salt. "I only hope you're not bitterly disappointed," Simon said. The words came out of his mouth by rote, like the words of a prayer uttered so often its syllables become devoid of meaning. He had always been a man of such belief--one who required only an anchor staunch enough to bear his zeal. He was adrift since the 92 death of his teacher, and so I took no offense at this kind of censure from him. The town of Magdala, on the west shore of the lake called the Sea of Galilee, stank of fish. Drying fish. Pickling fish. Rotting fish. Fish in the holding pools, several of them floating up along the surface, covered in flies. There were few boats this time of day, the fishermen working at the dock mending nets, securing them with fresh stone weights, repairing their boats with gopher or whatever wood they could come by.
What do You think about Iscariot: A Novel Of Judas?
