I squirmed and sat as tall as I could, trying to get Emmi's attention without success. She stared right past me. Even without looking over my shoulder, I knew who held my mother's interest — Yeshua. Who else?

A turn toward the grunts and shouts coming from a friendly wrestling contest several paces behind me confirmed that Yeshua lounged among the male spectators. Half the village had gathered on the ridge this evening, not for the impressive views of the valley below, but hoping to catch a westerly breeze. But the air refused to budge. Fanning the collar of my tunic back and forth, I studied my older brother as he shouted encouragements and then threw his head back in laughter at the younger boys' antics.

Yeshua's face wasn't striking. And lately he seemed gangly, as if his body didn't grow fast enough to appease his limbs. I couldn't find a single feature to merit Emmi's endless admiration. Even strangers remarked that I was the prettiest girl they'd ever seen. Why didn't Emmi stare at me?

The women's boasting interrupted my thoughts.

"My son's spoken three words already," said the blacksmith's wife. "He's so intelligent."

"My Honi nearly pulled over an entire rack of pots other day." Apparently our neighbor Rachel, the potter's wife, wasn't to be outdone. "He doesn't know his own strength."

I looked at the lumps of drooling baby fat under discussion. One was absorbed with a study of his toes while the other ate dirt. Surely these women weren't serious. A groan escaped my lips, drawing the attention of my two-year-old brother, Y'hudah. I crossed my eyes and was rewarded by his giggling.

My focus returned to Emmi, willing her to look my way. She still wore the frayed linen scarf she had donned this morning to keep her hair off her face while we brought the last olives and figs into the storehouse. But one wavy strand of hair had escaped its confines and trailed over her left shoulder. She wound it around and around her finger — a habit that usually meant her mind was elsewhere. The youngest of my six siblings, Shlomit, wriggled on a cloth spread out beside her.

"They grow up so fast, don't they?" Rachel asked of no one in particular.

Several women murmured their assent.

"How old is your eldest, Miryam?" the blacksmith's wife asked with a raised eyebrow. "Why, Yeshua must be almost eleven years of age by now."

Emmi lowered her head, but her tone was polite when she corrected the woman. "He'll be twelve soon."

"Twelve? I didn't know you and Yosef were married long enough to have a son so old." The faint smirk that accompanied her words undermined her show of surprise.

Rachel frowned, but Emmi graciously smiled. I chewed on the side of my thumb and stared at the blacksmith's wife. I didn't like that woman.

"Hannah."

I looked over at her. Finally. Emmi had noticed me.

She tilted her head as if expecting an answer from me, but I just stared. "You're too old to be sucking on your finger. Take your thumb out of your mouth, please." I whipped my hand behind my back. She laughed and held my gaze warmly. Joy blossomed inside me. When her eyes flitted from me back to Yeshua, it withered.

"Hannah." Elan slid to a stop on his knees beside me, grinning from ear to ear. "Hannah, come sit with the boys. Your father's telling stories about Egypt."

"Emmi, can I?" I asked, but Elan and I were up and trotting away before she could answer. "What story is Abba telling? The one about Cleopatra?"

"Mmm." Elan glanced down, his mouth twisted to the side.

"Abba said they wrapped her up special when she died so her flesh wouldn't rot. I wonder if she's still beautiful after forty years in the tomb."

Elan opened his mouth to speak.

"Someday, I'll be a queen."

He shrugged. "If that's what you want."

"And I'll hire you as my shepherd." I went a few more steps, then turned to see why Elan had stopped walking. "Why are you pouting?"

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are." I put my hands on my hips. It wasn't like him to object to my ideas. Ever since he'd been orphaned and Yeshua had brought him home to live with us, Elan had been my best friend. Some villagers even mistook us for twins because we were inseparable — though he had just turned eight and I was half a year older.

"You said you wanted to be a shepherd like your father was."

"I do."

"Well then, you will be my shepherd." I folded my arms across my chest.

Elan dug the ground with the toe of his sandal, releasing a tiny plume of dust. Curls of ash-brown hair obscured his hazel eyes so I could only stare at the freckles sprinkled across his nose and cheeks.

"If you're the queen, then who will be your king?"

"King?" I took a moment to consider the possibility before deciding against it. "Who said anything about a king? I'll rule alone."

"Oh."

My answer seemed to satisfy him, and we continued toward the ring of seated men. Yeshua slid over to make room for me, patting the ground beside him. I sat next to Abba instead, leaving Elan to fill the vacancy between me and Yeshua.

Abba ignored the shuffling at his side as he stroked the wiry black beard that crept high up his cheeks nearly joining his unruly eyebrows. "It's true, I tell you," he said to his listeners. "The whole city of Alexandria is practically afloat. It's surrounded by sea to the north, a lake to the south, and a massive black river to the east."

I scowled at Elan. This sounded like a lesson on mapmaking, not the story of royal intrigue I had come to hear.

"I don't believe you, Yosef." The blacksmith, Silas, crossed his arms over his barrel-shaped chest, making their girth even more menacing. "I've never been anywhere with so much water."

"You've never been anywhere at all," Uncle Cleopas said, winking at me. The other men laughed. Silas didn't look amused.

I tugged on my father's sleeve. "Abba."

"Hmm?"

"When I grow up, I'm going to live in a palace."

"Oh?" He turned and bopped me on the nose with his rough finger.

"And I'll let you build it for me."

He chuckled. "Is that so? Well, it will be my honor, your majesty." With an arm wrapped around my shoulders, he pulled me close. He hadn't yet washed away the sweat and dust from working the fields earlier, and I wrinkled my nose in protest, earning an even tighter hug. Despite the heat, I was content to lean against his chest and admire the brilliant display of oranges and pinks painted across the sky above Mount Carmel in the distance.

"Look at those colors." Uncle Cleopas followed the direction of my gaze. "It's like a residue of Eliyahu's fire remains in the sky from the day the prophets of Ba'al were killed." My uncle seemed wistful as he studied the sunset. If it had been in his power, he'd no doubt enjoy calling down some fire of his own — not to impress evil prophets, but to roast the Romans he loathed so much. "Can you picture the look on their faces when they saw that fire?"

Most of the men smiled or shook their heads.

"Yes, it was just as Eliyahu declared." Yeshua gave his own nod of confidence. "That day, everyone knew the God of Avraham, Yitz'chak, and Ya'akov was Lord in Isra'el."

My uncle stared at my brother while others shifted uneasily. I couldn't help glaring at Yeshua. Why did he always need to show off?

Itamar, the village hazzan, must have been waiting for the opportunity to speak, because he sprang to his feet with a speed that astonished me given his age.

"Oh, no," I muttered. The hazzan was caretaker of our synagogue and Torah scrolls, and in a village our size — six or seven hundred people at most — probably the closest thing to a rabbi we'd ever get. So I tried to listen to him, but he was so boring.

I pinched Elan's arm and, when he looked at me, feigned a yawn. He pursed his lips and looked back to the hazzan. I rolled my eyes. If I'd wanted to sit next to someone virtuous, I would've sat next to Yeshua.

The dark weathered skin on Itamar's bald head receded in the growing twilight. I focused on his wispy white beard as he recounted some ancient battle from the Torah. He appeared old enough to have witnessed the event personally, but Elan insisted the hazzan was only in his sixth decade of life.

A bat swooped overhead, drawing my gaze to its erratic path of flight through the darkening sky.

Itamar cleared his throat loudly then waited for everyone's attention before delivering what I hoped was his lesson — the hazzan always ended with a lesson.

"It does not matter which enemy has sought to conquer our land," he said, pointing his finger heavenward. "Egypt. Assyria. Babylon. Persia."

I looked up at Abba in alarm. How many foes did we have?

"Greece ... and now Rome." Itamar strutted along the ranks of seated men as if he were general of a conquering army himself, then stopped in front of Yeshua. "Though many foes seek our defeat, we remain. Always remember, this is a sign of the Lord's favor upon us."

As the townsmen pondered this, I leaned against Abba's shoulder. "Maybe it'd be better to be less favored by the Lord and have fewer invaders." My comment broke the reverent silence.

Abba clamped his hand over my mouth.

As the hazzan clutched his chest, Uncle Cleopas exploded with laughter. "Tobias," he called out to our neighbor, the potter, "perhaps this is a good time for a song. We have much to celebrate, enemies or no enemies. The wheat is threshed, the grapes turned to wine. Let's praise Adonai for the abundant harvest that will carry us through the coming shemittah year."

A chorus of amens rang out, and the mood turned festive again.

Tobias fiddled with the strings of his lyre, grinning. With his long-lashed brown eyes and jumbled teeth, he reminded me of a camel. "Here's one you may know."

My uncle laughed and slapped him on the back. Tobias played well but only knew a handful of songs.

Hearing the notes, the women brought the little ones to join us. Tobias's wife, Rachel, settled at his side, and he plowed into a rousing tune.

Elan grabbed my sleeve and pulled me to my feet. As the last light waned, we ran and danced with the other children.

"Quiet!" Silas suddenly instructed and flapped his massive arms. "Quiet."

Tobias tamped down the strings with his palm and the singing tapered off. Like everyone else, I looked around in confusion. Then we all heard it.

Hoofbeats.

No one in Nazareth owned a horse. No visiting relatives owned a horse. Horses only brought trouble.

Abba acted first, rushing forward to get a glimpse of the riders. Yeshua followed him while Uncle Cleopas herded children toward their parents. Anxious mothers snatched up babies and ran. The hazzan huddled next to Tobias and Rachel. I searched the whirling crowd for Emmi and found her waving at me. As the sound of hooves pounding earth intensified, I sprinted to her side.

"Mind your brother!" Before I realized what was happening, Emmi'd left me alone with Y'hudah.

Mind my brother? Who will mind me?

"Yeshua, come back!" she hollered, chasing after him as she clutched my baby sister.

I crouched, shielding Y'hudah as people fled in all directions. Emmi grabbed Yeshua's tunic and pulled him to a stop. She stood behind him, one protective arm across his chest and the other balancing Shlomit on her hip. I longed to be inside my mother's embrace, too, but couldn't move. The horses' strides shook the ground beneath me.

"Hannah, run!" Elan shouted from behind me.

It was too late. The horsemen crested the hill.

Three riders charged past Abba. A cloud of dust swirled around them, lending a sinister backdrop to their grim faces. I didn't know who they were but, thankfully, they didn't wear the uniform of Roman soldiers.

Fear changed to hostility on the faces around me. My ears detected a name whispered among the stragglers on the hill — Alvon, the tax collector.

Two men as big as our blacksmith dismounted, thrusting their reins to the closest villagers. Alvon, the third rider, remained mounted. His skin was so pale it was almost translucent, and his frame matched that of a large child. I doubted he'd ever known a day of physical labor in his life. But somehow his sickly form was more menacing than that of the brutes swaggering in front of us.

"Where is Tobias?" Alvon's strident words pierced the silence. "Where is he?" When he turned my direction, I cringed.

The tax collector's question garnered defiant stares. Eventually, Silas tipped his head in Tobias's direction. The hazzan attempted to block Tobias, but the potter gently pushed the older man aside and stepped forward.

The tax collector rode closer to him. "Your time is up. I want to be paid — now."

"I told you, Alvon, I'll give you the money." The lyre still clutched in one hand, he held up the other — to ward off or soothe the man, I wasn't sure. "I have a new batch of pots that are ready to be sold and —"

The two thugs snickered. "You mean you used to have a batch of pots," one said. "We've already paid a visit to your house. And when you weren't there ... well, let's just say I was a bit disappointed. I might have accidentally broken a thing or two." Both cackled.

Tobias's already-big eyes protruded in his red face. "How do you expect I'll pay you if you've destroyed my —"

"Enough." Alvon commanded. "Be thankful you lost only clay, not your life. Next time you won't be so fortunate. With a word in the right ear, I could have you crucified for treason."

The earlier flush drained from Tobias's cheeks. I didn't know what crucified meant, but it couldn't be good.

"Treason?" Rachel cried. "What are you talking about? My husband is a good man. He's done nothing wrong."

Alvon's lip turned up in a sneer, and his horse sidestepped impatiently. He addressed the crowd. "Good men don't aid rebels."

Several villagers cast accusing stares at Tobias, and the few who had stood in solidarity with him a moment ago now took a step or two backward.

I hugged my little brother tighter. Y'hudah watched in wonder as the tax collector's horse snorted and tossed its black mane.

"Listen," Tobias said. "I don't know what you're talking about."

At a flick of the tax collector's reins, the two henchmen lunged forward. One pulled the lyre from Tobias's hand and stamped on it while the other punched him. A sickening crack — wood or bone breaking, I didn't know — sent a tingle down my spine. Rachel screamed and her son Honi wailed in her arms. I bit my own trembling lip to keep from crying.

Emmi rushed to console Rachel, and free of her restraining arm, Yeshua sprinted forward.

Alvon's horse spooked at my brother's approach. The beast leapt sideways, kicking its hind leg out and sending my brother soaring backward. Yeshua grunted as his body smacked the ground.

"Watch it, man!" Abba shouted, running to shield Yeshua from the stamping hooves. "What's wrong with you?"

Alvon adjusted his seat in the saddle as he gained control of the horse but didn't deign to glance my father's way before addressing Tobias again. "Either you pay me now or I tell Herod it wasn't just your cousin who revolted against him."

"We don't want trouble here," Abba said. "Tell me what Tobias owes, and I'll pay it."

Now that money was being offered, Alvon assessed Abba with a cold stare. Abba stood in front of Yeshua with his shoulders back, fists clenched at his sides. I was both proud of him and terrified that he'd be trampled underfoot.

No one breathed as we awaited the outcome.

"Bring me the money within the hour. And don't think you get credit for playing the hero. I'll be back next month for the regular collection. No excuses." Alvon turned his attention toward the hazzan. "Old man, open the synagogue. We'll lodge there tonight." He jerked the horse's bit to send it galloping back toward the village.

His lackeys mounted up and followed.

"Uri? Where's my grandson?" the hazzan called. "Uri, there you are. Come on, boy. Hurry." The two of them scurried in the direction of the synagogue.

I sensed a presence behind me and looked back. Elan. Sniffling, I wiped my face with my sleeve. He soothed Y'hudah while I stood on shaky legs.

Emmi ran to where Yeshua still sat on the ground. He winced when she examined his thigh but managed a smile. "Don't worry. I'm fine. No broken bones."

"What were you thinking?" She fiercely hugged him.

Tobias hesitantly approached Abba, still trying to stop the blood trickling from his nose. Even with his hand in front of his face, his nose was obviously bent at an unnatural angle.

"Thank you, Yosef. I'll pay you back," he muttered. "That man's a liar. What he said before about rebelling ... I didn't —"

Abba held up a hand. "We'll talk later. Just get your family home."