“Indeed you shall not,” Kaspar told him. “And I owe you an apology, for it was I who insisted you must return to the king, and on camelback. You have done well. Will you come with me to Athens? I wish to grant you your freedom, and to offer you a home as well.”
Thomas had tears in his eyes, and he sniffled. “I will come with you willingly. For I wish to learn more of this Messiah. It was He I asked, as we ran through the days and nights, to guide me to you, for I had no idea where to find you in this vast desert.”
Dawn came, and a cold wind whistled from the north as they broke camp and rode out upon the desert once more. Suddenly the air was filled with shouts and curses, and the small caravan looked back to see bandits riding fast horses across the desert. Wicked sword blades glittered in the early sunlight, and Kaspar shouted to his servants, “Stay together; do not fall behind! If one camel slows, we all slow. We ride together or we ride separately to a sure death!”
Then began a desperate dash across the sandy soil. Their hired guards were too few to defend against such numbers of brigands. The camels at first seemed to have the advantage, for their feet were adapted to the sand far better than the hooves of the horses, but they were still tired from their forced journey of the previous days. Ira looked out from his basket and gritted his teeth, watching the horses gaining on them. They must be a gang of desert marauders. They may have followed us for days, waiting for us to tire, or perhaps they merely lie in wait for unlucky travelers. Only Roman soldiers could save us now, and how are they to find us in time? He thought of the Messiah and silently sent a prayer to Him, asking for rescue to come, somehow.
And come it did, for from behind a series of low hills came legionnaires marching, banners and plumes waving in the bitterly cold air. The bandits, seeing the soldiers, began yanking on their horses’ reins, trying to turn the galloping beasts before they could bring their riders within range of the Romans’ weapons. Ira yowled an exuberant greeting to the soldiers, even knowing full well they couldn’t hear him.
The caravan raced down a small hill and finally got the camels calmed to a walk. “We shall make camp here tonight!” Kaspar called, his chest heaving from the mad ride across the desert.
“Thank the Messiah for sending us succor!” Melchior called to his companions and slid from his saddle before his camel had fully knelt. “How glad my heart will be to see my home in Alexandria once more!”
The members of the caravan turned in time to watch as a volley of Roman arrows found their marks, and seventeen of the band of cutthroats died in their saddles. The other thieves screamed horribly and beat their tired horses with whips, riding back over the far crest of the small hills and disappearing from view. Ira leaped from his basket and danced in the sand. “Well done, men! Well done!”
He raced over to the packs as soon as they were stacked and clambered upon them, the better to watch the soldiers as they regrouped and marched toward the camp. A chariot and driver joined them, the driver’s plumed helmet nodding as the commander congratulated his young men on their successful rout of the bandits.
And then, as the centurion began driving closer to the camp, something about the man seemed familiar to Ira. He stretched his neck to its limit, trying to see yet farther. Quickly he licked a paw and rubbed it across his face and tried to calm his pounding heart. It can’t be! But it is! Thank You, Messiah! Thank You!
As the gleaming silver chariot entered the camp, Ira leaped from the packs and dashed toward the vehicle. The centurion handed his reins to another soldier and turned to speak to the man he assumed was the caravan leader.
Gracus stared and removed his helmet, to run his hand through his thick hair in his usual gesture. “Can it indeed be Alexos’s kinsman, Kaspar of Athens?”
Then the centurion’s face turned white, for Ira ran straight up to him, stopped, and held up his left leg, turning his paw in a salute.
“My little soldier!” he gasped. “I feared you dead!” And he stooped and gathered Ira into his arms, not caring whether that was dignified behavior for a Roman centurion. Ira purred as loudly as he could and licked Gracus’s face with his rough tongue.
A short distance away, Kezia and Abishag watched, lumps in their throats as they saw Ira greet the man who was his true friend and comrade.
“So Ira will be a soldier once more,” Kezia said softly. “I certainly hope Gracus has another harness made for him; that one is too shabby for words, even if Kaspar did have it cleaned and repaired.” And she sniffed, but whether from disdain or a full heart, Abishag couldn’t tell.
That night around the campfire, the ordinary stars saw the members of the caravan and the soldiers trading tales, enjoying each other’s company.
Finally, Gracus lowered his goblet and demanded, “But how does my small soldier once again have a straight leg? For I know he limped from it being broken; it was my horse that stepped upon him and I myself set the leg!”
“Now you must indeed believe in miracles,” Kaspar told him, and he related the story of the star, the angels, and the wondrous occurrences while He was yet a newborn babe.
“So there is but One God, and not the multitudes I have tried to placate all my life?” Gracus said, wonderingly. “And what is the Messiah’s given name? Has He one?”
“His parents call Him Jesus of Nazareth,” Melchior told Gracus. “You shall hear more of Him in future years.”
Before they slept that night, Gracus agreed to escort the three wise men, Thomas, and the caravan back to Tyre.
“My assignment in Zeugma was foreshortened by the emperor,” Gracus told them. “He issued orders for many of his soldiers to return to Rome. I go to Tyre myself now to meet the rest of my household.” He glanced at Ira, who lay, utterly contented, upon the centurion’s bare knees. “I may be involved in some bloody campaigns, once I command the emperor’s own troops. This little soldier may have to stay at home to look after Polla and my baby daughter.” Ira opened one eye and looked at Gracus, as the other men about the campfire laughed.
Kaspar transferred Ira’s basket to Gracus’s chariot the next morning, and his foster sisters watched as their brother raised a paw—but with no salute—as he departed, to ride that day in Gracus’s chariot once again.
“I hope he doesn’t really imagine himself leading the soldiers at the head of the caravan.” Kezia giggled.
“Oh, you know Ira,” Abishag said. “By now, in his imagination, he’s at least a general.” Then they leaped into their camels’ baskets, setting off on their journey once more, content to know Tyre was the next destination.
Now it was Kezia’s turn to peer from her basket, trying to smell the salt air or see the glint of sunshine upon the sea as they traveled closer to Tyre and its enormous harbor.
They entered the city very late at night, and Gracus bid them stay at his temporary home until they could find ships and to see Polla and his baby daughter, Livinia. “She should have been a son,” he said, smiling. “But Polla assures me the next will be a son for Caesar.”
Two mornings later, the three men and Gracus were on their way to the harbor to secure passage for Balthazar to Antioch, Melchior to Alexandria, and Kaspar to his home in Athens. Melchior had been the object of much teasing, for Kezia set up such a terrible fuss when the men started to leave, he had been compelled to bring her in her basket.
“I do not think it is I from whom she wishes not to part,” he grumbled, “for Kaspar has told us often of the snake she killed aboard Alexos’s ship, thus saving him from a terrible death. She never killed a snake for me, and yet did I not carry her upon my camel everywhere I went?” And then Melchior laughed.
To Kezia’s joy, Alexos’s graceful ship was in the harbor, and soon a runner was dispatched with a message for him.
The sea captain met them at the same tavern where he and his old friend Gracus had eaten months earlier while settling passage for Gracus’s household. The other men didn’t tell him of the basket Melchior still carried until they were sitti
ng at a large table awaiting their meal.
“Here, Alexos, a surprise for you,” Kaspar said and nodded at Melchior to open the basket.
“It’s not a snake, is it?” Alexos asked nervously. He gasped as Kezia leaped from the basket and gracefully landed on the table in front of him.
“My wonder of a cat! The lovely one who saved me from that poisonous snake! Oh, look—how has this happened? Your ear, which I hurt so badly flailing with that trident—your ear is perfectly beautiful once again!” The other men at the table chuckled at Alexos’s bewilderment.
Kezia purred so loudly she could be heard over their laughter, and tears stood in Alexos’s good eye once again as he stroked her soft fur.
“You are a treasure—and may the gods strike me dead if I am ever parted from you again!”
“Be careful with those vows, Alexos,” Kaspar told him. “For I have a wondrous story to relate to you about the One God and His Son the Messiah, Who restored your little cat’s ear.”
The story told and their meal long finished, Alexos looked at his kinsman. “I have never known you to tell a lie,” he said to Kaspar. “And so I must turn from my old familiar gods of the seas and thank the Messiah you found—for surely He is the one who restored both my cat’s ear and her very presence here to me.” The Greek sea captain turned to the tabby, who was still seated upon the table. “I shall get you a silk cushion for your basket; you shall have all the delicacies of the sea that I may coax it into yielding; and you are now and forever the Captain’s Cat.”
When Abishag saw Kezia the next day, Alexos had fashioned overnight a special collar for her of fishing-net cord, using the smallest sailor’s knots he knew. A curiously wrought fish of pure silver hung from the collar.
“Alexos now believes in the old prophecies because of what Kaspar told him yesterday,” Kezia explained to her foster sister. She wore the collar her heart’s companion had made for her gladly; more proudly than she ever did the topaz stone bracelet Asmodeus had stolen for her. “I am happy to be loved by Alexos and to love my captain in return. The Messiah has brought me home.”
Now that just leaves me to have my heart’s dearest wish granted, Abishag thought. I may have my miracle, too!
17
THE FIRST STAGE of her mira- cle was granted the next day, when Alexos agreed to return to Lepcis Magna for another shipload of the grain grown in that region.
Midday he met the wise men and Gracus at the dockside tavern and told them of his next voyage.
“And I thought I was to secure passage with you to Athens,” Kaspar pretended to grumble. “My own ship departed weeks ago, to return to my home. Am I to travel with someone else, as but another passenger?”
“Forgive me, my kinsman, but I must sail where the gold takes me.” And Alexos laughed.
Balthazar leaned across the table. “I had nearly forgotten—what of the other small black cat? Who speaks for her? She has not indicated she wishes to remain with any of us.”
The men looked at one another, feeling a little guilty because none had realized not one man claimed Abishag as his cat.
“Surely she can sail with her foster sister upon my ship,” Alexos decided. “They sailed together before, and they may do so again, and welcome.”
And with that, Abishag found herself well started on her trip homeward, as she and Kezia sat by the Greek captain’s feet and watched the harbor of Tyre grow ever smaller in the distance and late morning sunshine. They had given Ira their final good-byes the night before they sailed.
It had been a bittersweet farewell; they had endured much and seen wonders together—and the three cats knew they would never, in all likelihood, see each other again.
They touched noses and slept in their same basket, now quite dilapidated, one last night at Gracus’s house. Polla had whispered into each set of furry ears her assurances that they would be most happy with the path they had chosen with their life’s companions. And she repeated her prophecy about the five fat kittens she foresaw in her mind’s eye, tumbling and playing about Abishag’s paws.
Dawn found Ira and Gracus reporting for duty at the garrison, and the wise men were packed and saying their farewells, for each had secured passage home as well. They threw their arms about one another and vowed to send messengers as often as possible to each other.
“For we of the star in our palms have formed an unusual brotherhood,” Kaspar said. “And I feel we should keep communication among us, if nothing more than to remind ourselves and each other of the wonders we saw, and the truth of the Messiah being born.”
THE VOYAGE TO Lepcis Magna was uneventful; Kezia and Abishag patrolled the ship and kept mice and rats from setting up housekeeping beneath the deck. The weeks flew by almost as fast as the ship skimmed the sea, but it was still far too slow for Abishag. She longed to get her sturdy little legs upon solid ground once again, to begin the final part of her homeward journey.
Then one fine morning Kezia swallowed so hard the small fish on her collar bobbed up and down. “I—I’m going to miss you very much, Abishag,” she said. “I look back now and wonder how you and Ira tolerated my foolishness and my overbearing pride.”
Abishag smiled at her. “We were all much younger then. And we had not seen the Messiah. He will always bless our lives, of that I am sure.”
The two cats said their farewells as Alexos’s graceful ship glided to one of the docks in Lepcis Magna.
“I wish you much love, my sister,” Kezia said sincerely and touched noses with Abishag.
Abishag looked back as she started to step from the ship’s ramp onto the dock. Kezia, looking very small, bravely raised a paw. “Good luck!” she called. “Name one of your kittens after me. Remember—she is to be Kezia the Beautiful!”
Abishag laughed and raised a paw in return. If I kept my nose pointed toward the North Star to find Lepcis Magna in the first place, then I must keep the tip of my tail pointed to the star to find my way home again. I should have to journey but another week before I am home at last.
The little black cat retraced the steps she and her foster sister and brother had taken so very long before. It must be a year, perhaps more. I hope Ptolemy is still alive. And if he is not well, then I shall be home to look after him.
At dawn of the seventh day, Abishag’s heart beat faster as she recognized the old tower, still at a distance.
“May the Messiah grant we have some last happy days together!” she cried and began to run.
She stopped just outside the gate to catch her breath and say a small prayer. Please, my Messiah, let Ptolemy still be alive, so I may be near him and love him, even if he doesn’t love me in the same way.
She hurried into the dusty courtyard, quiet in the late, fragile sunshine of an early spring day—and saw Ptolemy sitting next to the wall. His muzzle was gray now, not black, and he had white hairs in his tail; but the look upon his face when he saw Abishag made her heart purr.
To her surprise, the elderly astronomer was also still alive, and even had acquired a young assistant, who cheerfully looked after the old man. Abishag happily settled back into the tower quarters with Ptolemy.
He called to her a few days after her return.
“Come and sit in the sunshine with me, and tell me again of the wonders you saw.” The old Siamese walked slowly into the courtyard, sat down, and curled his tail about his paws. Abishag sat next to him and leaned against his shoulder.
“You know that I love you,” he said and smiled at her. “But I am far too old for you.”
“Nonsense,” Abishag replied. “Do you not realize that I love you also?”
“But I will not live to see our kittens grown.”
“I will treasure whatever time we have together,” Abishag whispered. “I fear you will try to make me leave you, and that alone would break my heart.”
Ptolemy sighed and shook his head. “It is terribly selfish of me, my Abishag. But please, stay with me for whatever time I have left upon this earth, for
you make my old heart young again.” He settled himself to listen, for he wished to hear every detail she could recall of the long journey.
She related the lies and tricks with which Asmodeus had tried to ruin their quest and told him of the chorus of angels and Charko, their guardian angel. When she described again the miraculous gifts the Messiah gave Kezia and Ira in the stable, Ptolemy grew very thoughtful. This time he had a new question.
“And what gift did He give you?” Ptolemy asked gently, his wise old blue eyes studying her saffron golden ones.
“When I looked upon His face, a newborn babe, He reached His hand out to me and touched me. I carry Him within my heart always,” the little black cat said, simply.
“So you have not yet seen His gift to you. Come.” And Ptolemy led her to the wide pan of water the astronomers used for washing up.
She peeked over the edge of the pan and saw her reflection. Upon her small chest, framed by black fur, was a cross of purest white.
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