The innkeeper was not without pity. He, too, had seen the young mother’s grimace of pain. Besides, it was considered good luck when a birth took place at an inn. “You were here first,” he told the carpenter. “If you can equal the price of four shekels, the couch is still yours.”
“Two would have emptied my purse,” Joseph admitted. “The Pharisee is right about the Law; rent him the couch.”
Elam was counting out the four shekels importantly, making certain everyone had a chance to see how fat his purse was. “This pays for a place in the stable for my servant, of course,” he added.
“The very best space, beside the manger,” the innkeeper assured him. “All the others are already filled.”
“See that the animals are well cared for, Jonas,” Elam directed. “We must leave very early in the morning.”
The carpenter had gone to where his wife sat on the bale and was now helping her to her feet. “We will find a place somewhere, Mary,” Jonas heard him tell her as he followed them outside into the inn yard.
The woman tried to smile, but just then another spasm of pain made her cry out. Moved by pity, Jonas said to Joseph, “My master purchased space for me in the straw of the stable. Your wife may have it if you wish.”
“But you will have no place to sleep.”
“I am used to faring for myself,” Jonas assured him. “Besides, one of the other men will probably share his place with me.”
Joseph was still doubtful and Jonas could understand his concern. A stable was a poor place for a child to be born, but at least it was a shelter and a measure of protection from the biting wind. Nor were they likely to find anything better tonight, with so many people on the road.
“The pain is great, Joseph,” the young mother said. “I am not afraid to bear my child in a stable.”
“We accept your offer then,” the carpenter said gratefully. “But you must let me pay you.”
“The poor stand together, friend Joseph,” Jonas said with a smile. “I have slept in many stables and the space beside the manger is always the best. Secure it quickly now for your wife and let no one argue with you about it.”
II
The child was born about midnight. Through it all, the mother bore her suffering with quiet courage, not once crying out even in the final agony of birth. The baby was well formed and strong, and when Jonas saw the look in the mother’s eyes as she held it close to her body, he felt well repaid for giving up his own space beside the manger to her, even if he got no sleep for the rest of the night.
There was no heat inside the stable, and with the wind seeping beneath the eaves the temperature had fallen rapidly with the coming of night. Now it was only a little warmer inside than out, and those who had rented space to sleep burrowed into the straw for warmth and cover. Joseph and Mary had not expected the baby to be born so quickly upon their arrival at Bethlehem, they told Jonas, and had not had time to purchase swaddling clothes in which to wrap Him. Few of the other travelers carried more than the clothing they wore on their backs, and even if they had, the rough fabric would have been far too coarse for the tender skin of the newborn babe.
Mary was trying to warm the child with her own body but, worn out from the ordeal of birth, had little warmth to give it. When Jonas came to look at the babe and receive her thanks for giving up his place, he saw that her teeth were chattering and her lips blue from the cold.
“We need a blanket to wrap the child in,” Joseph said. “Is there anything in your master’s bales I could buy, Jonas?”
Elam carried only rich cloth for making fine robes. Jonas knew the carpenter would not be able to afford even the smallest piece and, with the markets of Jerusalem so nearby, there was no point in asking the Pharisee to reduce the price. But there still was a cloth in which the baby could be wrapped, a fabric far softer and warmer than anything the carpenter could buy. Jonas was carrying it, there within his own robe.
His brief conflict with himself ended when the baby began to cry. As he drew the cloth from his robe and removed the coverings from it, he did not dare feel the smoothness and softness of the fabric with his fingers or look closely at its snowy whiteness lest he weaken and decide to keep it for the temple tomorrow.
“Wrap the baby in this while I make a place for it in the manger.” Jonas handed the cloth to Joseph. “The wool will keep him warm and we can use the straw to cover your wife.”
Joseph rubbed the cloth between his fingers. “This is a fine piece—”
“It was not stolen,” Jonas assured him. “I wove it with my own hands from scraps of wool that had been thrown away.”
“You could sell it in Jerusalem for a good price, much more than I can pay.”
“The cloth was to be a gift for the temple, but your child needs it more than the priests. Wrap him in it quickly before the warmth from my body is lost.”
“Yours is the first gift to the baby,” Mary said gratefully as she wound the soft cloth around the child’s body. “Surely it is the worthiest of all He will ever receive.”
With the excitement over, the other people in the stable began to settle down for the night. Finding no place to sleep among them as he had assured Joseph he would and thinking to lie down outside with the animals and gain a little warmth from their bodies, Jonas went out into the courtyard.
At first he thought it must be the light of the full moon that was bathing the inn and the town around it with such a warm glow. Almost blinded by the brilliance, he looked for its source and saw that the light seemed to come from a star hanging low in the sky above the inn, a far more brilliant star than he ever remembered seeing before.
Instinctively feeling himself in the presence of some power not of earth or man, Jonas dropped to his knees and his lips moved in a prayer he had learned as a child. He did not pray from fear, for the light seemed somehow friendly and warm—like the smile of the young mother in the stable as she had looked down upon her child.
“You there, little man!” A rough voice close to Jonas’s ear startled him. “Why are you saying your prayers here in the middle of the night?”
Jonas stumbled hurriedly to his feet. Two men stood near him, travelers who obviously had been sitting late in the wine shops of the town and were now loud of voice and unsteady upon their feet.
“The—the star,” Jonas stammered. “I was blinded by the star.”
“The sky is full of stars!” the man said roughly. “I see no star that would blind a man.”
Jonas looked up quickly, thinking the star might have grown dim while he was praying. But it was still there, its warm brilliance undiminished.
“There it is,” he said pointing. “Hanging in the sky over the inn.”
“Leave him alone, Asa,” the second man urged. “The poor fellow must be possessed by an evil spirit; he sees things that do not exist.”
“The star is there!” Jonas cried. “I can see it!”
The men hurried toward the inn. Everyone knew, when a man was possessed by a demon, the evil spirit could escape into the body of anyone who came near.
Jonas felt a chill colder than the winter night settle upon him. Madmen, he knew, often saw things others could not see. There were such in every village, shunned by the people lest they send the devils who possessed them to trouble others. If the men who had just left told of seeing a little man kneeling in the courtyard and babbling about a star no one else could see, everyone would think him a madman. Elam might not take him back home to Hebron and he would be condemned to wander through the countryside, seeking shelter, wherever he could find it and with nothing to eat except what he could steal or whatever scraps kindhearted people might throw him.
Jonas decided he would say no more about the star to anyone. And since the men would hardly mention his peculiar behavior before he had departed early in the morning with his master, no one
else need know. Feeling somewhat better, now that his secret did not seem likely to be revealed, he lay down on the ground beside the animals.
Strangely enough, he felt the cold no longer, for the soft radiance of the star seemed to bathe his body in a warmth like the rays of the sun. Once he was almost certain he heard faint music like the sound of harps and voices coming from some place in the sky. But he kept that to himself, too, and enveloped by the soft, warm, protecting mantle of the star’s light, he soon slept.
III
Elam was up early for he was anxious to reach the bazaars of Jerusalem with his bales of cloth soon after the shops opened for business. Later in the day, when more merchandise had come in, prices would be lower, but since it was only a few miles to the Holy City, he planned to be among the firstcomers and thus be sure of a good price.
Word had gone through the inn that a child had been born in the stable during the night. With a good night’s rest behind him and the prospect of a handsome profit on the sale of his goods, the Pharisee was in a good humor when he stopped by the stable to give his blessing to mother and child. But as he looked at the sleeping baby, he gave a muffled exclamation of surprise. Reaching down, he took a corner of the swaddling cloth between his fingers and for an instant a look of astonishment showed in his eyes, to be quickly replaced by a crafty gleam.
“This fabric is too fine to be wasted as a swaddling cloth,” he said casually to Joseph. “I will give you a good price for it.”
“I cannot sell the cloth.” Joseph glanced quickly at Jonas, who had come in to tell the family good-bye before leaving.
“Why not sell it?” Elam demanded of Joseph. “You could not bid against me for the couch last night. You must be poor.”
“We have no other swaddling cloth for the baby,” Joseph protested.
Elam shrugged away that objection. “The shops of the town will soon be open. With what I will pay you for the cloth, you can buy another and still have money to spare. Hurry and name a price, man. I must get to Jerusalem early.”
Joseph shook his head. “The cloth was a gift, the first gift to the baby. It is not for sale.”
“A gift?” Elam’s eyes narrowed and he looked quickly around the stable. Obviously no one there could afford such a gift. “Who gave it?” he demanded.
“I—I cannot say, sir.”
“You mean it was stolen, don’t you?” Elam seized upon the advantage Joseph had given him. “Then it is my duty to impound the cloth and hold it for the rightful owner.” Elam knew that if the carpenter did not divulge the name of the owner now, the cloth would probably never be claimed and in due time it would become his property at no cost.
“Joseph did not steal the cloth, master,” Jonas said. “I gave it to the child.”
“You!” Elam wheeled upon his servant. “Where would you get such a fabric as this, Jonas?”
“I wove it myself. Nights, after my work was finished.”
“You stole the wool from me, then.”
“It was made from scraps that had been thrown away. I carded and spun the wool into thread myself, and wove it upon a loom I made with my own hands.”
“You were going to sell the cloth in Jerusalem and keep the money for yourself!” Elam accused him.
“No, master.” Jonas realized fully that he was inviting harsh punishment at Elam’s hands for contradicting him. “It was to be a gift to the temple for an altar cloth.”
“If it was intended for the temple, why did you let such a valuable fabric be used for swaddling a baby?”
“The child—it was cold,” Jonas stammered. “I thought it needed the cloth more than the priests.”
Elam snorted indignantly. “You were a fool to soil such a fine piece of fabric. Especially as it belongs to me.” He turned to Joseph. “Unwrap the child and give me the cloth. I am a generous man, so I will still pay you enough to buy another, though this one is mine by right.”
Joseph shook his head. “Jonas has explained to you that he wove it after his day’s work was finished, from wool that had been cast aside. The cloth was his to do with as he chose.”
“The work of a servant belongs to the master,” Elam insisted. “That is the Law.”
“You Pharisees speak much of the Law when it is to your own benefit,” Joseph said firmly. “Let us take this question before a judge and see who is right. These men here in the stable will witness that you covet a cloth which Jonas gave the child and seek to get it for yourself.”
“I will gladly be a witness for Jonas,” a burly fellow bystander offered, glowering at Elam. “It will be good to see a Pharisee feel the weight of the Law on his own neck for a change.”
When several others pushed forward to offer themselves as witnesses, Elam hesitated. If he took this dispute before a judge, the ruling would probably be in his favor, since it would be the word of a wealthy man against his servant. On the other hand, much of the “Oral Law” governing the conduct of the Jews was not set down in writing, and each judge could interpret it according to his own conviction. If the ruling should go against him, Elam would not only lose face—an important thing to a man of his sort—but he would have failed to reach the shops of Jerusalem early and might be forced to hold his bales until tomorrow’s market.
Characteristically, the Pharisee turned his anger and frustration upon one who could not resist. “Strip to the waist,” he ordered Jonas and, going to the wall, took down a leather strap hanging there. Elam had no fear that anyone would try to keep him from flogging Jonas, for the right of the master to punish a servant was undisputed.
Jonas’s face was pale as he dropped the upper part of his robe, baring his back and shoulders. He flinched as the strap fell upon his unprotected skin, but he did not cry out. The Pharisee was skilled in punishing servants, laying on the leather with enough force to cause pain and raise an angry red welt which would be exquisitely tender for days, yet not enough to break the skin. Skin wounds could mean inflammation and even death, and a servant was too valuable a property to be destroyed simply to satisfy the owner’s anger.
Soon Jonas’s back was a crisscross pattern of red welts. The pain was excruciating but the little man bit into his lip and did not beg for mercy. Finally, though, a blow brought a slight stain of red, and then Elam, almost exhausted, tossed the leather strap aside.
“Get the animals ready while I refresh myself with wine,” he ordered curtly. “We will leave for Jerusalem at once.”
Jonas pulled up his robe and started for the courtyard where the animals were tied, but Joseph was there before him. “I should have felt the strap instead of you,” he said humbly as he loosened the tether of Elam’s pack animal for Jonas and tested the thongs lashing the bales upon its back.
Jonas managed to grin, although his back was a throbbing mass of agony. “The pain will go away. I have been flogged before.”
“And will be again, if I judge that master of yours right,” Joseph said grimly. “He was humbled in pride and purse, both tender spots for a man such as he.”
The pain lines were gone from Mary’s face when Jonas came to bid the little family farewell. Her serene beauty reminded him of the star that had shone over Bethlehem last night, and the sleeping child, too, seemed to have a radiance of its own.
“Jonas!” Elam’s sharp voice sounded in the doorway. “Stop wasting time, unless you want another beating!”
The little man hurried to pick up the tether of the pack animal. To keep the rough cloth of his garment from scraping against his tender skin, he tried to walk stiffly erect. But even that little relief was denied him, for Elam at once kicked the ass he rode into a near trot, so anxious was he to get to Jerusalem by the time the shops opened, and Jonas was forced to hurry on behind him.
Busy with his own misery while he tried to urge the reluctant pack animal along, Jonas was paying little att
ention to the road ahead when he heard his master’s voice ring out sharply.
“You there!” Elam called. “Don’t block the road.”
Three men, shepherds by their dress and the fact that one of them carried a crook made from the gnarled limb of a small tree, stood aside for Elam’s little procession to pass. Jonas remembered seeing other such men when traveling near Jerusalem. The flocks in this area near the Holy City and its great temple were for the most part dedicated for sacrifice upon the altar, and the shepherds who guarded them were set apart and treated with respect by all who met them.
Elam now recognized the men and pulled the ass to a stop. Jonas, plodding behind with the lead rope of the second animal, also halted.
“Are you not the shepherds of the sacred flock?” the Pharisee asked in a more pleasant tone.
“One of us is keeping the flocks today so the rest of us can come to Bethlehem,” one of the men said.
Elam frowned. Some landlord and owner was being cheated if shepherds were allowed to roam the countryside or go into the town for a cup of wine while their flocks were left poorly guarded in the field. Elam knew that many rich men in Jerusalem owned land and flocks in this area. No doubt some one of them would reward him well for discovering the shortcomings of his shepherds.
“Would your masters be pleased if they knew of this?” Elam demanded.
The taller shepherd who seemed to be the spokesman answered. “Last night something happened,” he explained. “A thing so strange that we felt it should be reported in Bethlehem.”
“What was that?”
“We were abiding in the field as is our custom when a bright light shone around us and we were sore afraid. But we heard a voice say, ‘Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord.’”
As an educated man, Elam knew what was written concerning the coming of the Expected One, the Messiah who would rule over Israel and free her from domination by others. He doubted strongly that so momentous an event would be announced to ignorant shepherds; it would be the high priest in Jerusalem who would be the first to know of it—if it really had occurred. If it had, though, and the temple authorities had not heard . . . Elam was shrewd enough to realize they would pay well for information about it . . .
The Crown and the Cross: The Life of Christ Page 3