"Yes, here, sire."
The imperial eagle at the top of the gilded staff glowed with the same power as the bird on the end of Linux's second scroll. "It's a nice day for a stroll, don't you agree?"
The soldiers all grinned. Linux's sardonic air was well remembered among the Jerusalem garrison.
Linux took the reins from the soldier tending his horse and slipped into the saddle. "Let's get this over with."
The air held a dense mixture of sunlight and heat and dust. Linux rode alongside the subaltern, the only other Roman who rode. Their way forward was made easy enough, for not even the most surly Judean was willing to obstruct the imperial eagle. The staff held by the soldier who walked ahead of them signified to all that they rode on the emperor's business. Any who stood in their way would be treated as though insulting the emperor himself. Such processions only took place under very special circumstances, as when a governor was traveling under official business, or when the emperor sent a royal decree to a local ruler. Such as now.
Linux held to the mask of Roman authority that every officer in Jerusalem was forced to adopt. The lead guard shouted for the people to make way, while a pair of soldiers walked on either side, armed with long staffs to prod away any man or beast. The avenues were crowded, as always. Many of the looks cast their way held dark fury. But no one threatened their progress.
At the first major turning, the lead guard glanced back. Linux motioned them to the right, away from the Temple. The subaltern frowned, clearly wanting to make as public a display of Roman power as possible. But Linux had no desire to confront the mobs clustering around the Temple entrance. From the glances the foot soldiers shared, they clearly agreed with him. Their way took them north toward the Pool of Siloam, then along the main thoroughfare bisecting the upper city. This route was further but much less crowded. They made good time.
Linux found himself thinking about the Judean lass, Abigail. The horses' hooves offered a gentle cadence to his reflections.
He felt as though his spirit were being torn in two. One side of his reflections, the Roman side, shouted like a commander facing enemy battalions. Marry a Judean? His brother, Castor, would be utterly delighted by the news. Linux knew Castor had always feared his seizing power. Many Umbrians made no attempt to hide their preference of Linux as their ruler. Marrying a Judean would hand his brother a sharpened sword, one Castor would not hesitate to use against him.
But the other side of him, the lonely wanderer, hungered for a woman he scarcely knew at all.
The Jerusalem palace stood upon one of the city's highest points, overlooking the western valleys and the Jaffa Gate. Herod's father had chosen the location both to be as far as possible from the Temple Mount and to proclaim his rule as an opposing force against the high priests. The palace was so large that seven years earlier it had been split in two, with Pontius Pilate residing in one side and Herod Antipas in the other.
Linux presented himself and was granted entry. His men dismissed the palace guards with a single glance. Herod's guards bore the weak faces of men born to loiter and were dressed in finery that looked absurd to the Roman foot soldiers. The palace interior, however, was another matter. The troops stood at the top step of the entrance hall and gawked over a garden as large and verdant as an enclosed forest.
Linux recognized the man scurrying toward him as Enos, personal aide to Herod Antipas and head of the palace staff. Clearly the man was too frightened, however, to realize they had met before. His bow was so low his robes swept the floor, and his voice shook as he said, "Your most loyal servant greets you, sire."
The instant the man's eyes fell on the scroll, Linux realized that Enos knew. It had been said that Herod's spies were the finest in the realm. "I bring word from the new governor for your ruler."
Enos bowed again, most likely to mask the shiver that wracked his frame. "My sincerest apologies, sire. King Herod is still at his residence in Tiberius."
Linux knew his men were listening intently. "In that case, perhaps we should have a word in private."
"Of-of course, sire. This way." Enos led him inside with yet another deep bow.
As Linux followed the man into the lavish formal chamber, he recalled the last time he had been there. Alban's betrothal ceremony had taken place at the chamber's far end, with thronelike chairs placed on the raised dais by the garden doors for Herod and Pilate's wife, Procula. Linux had since learned how miserable Leah had been on that day, dreading marriage so intensely she had actually considered complicity in taking Alban's life. How she had intended to do that, Linux had no idea, but he suspected it included the help of Herod's sweating and slippery head servant.
Linux allowed himself to be bowed into a gilded chair, and reflected that things had certainly changed between Leah and Alban since their betrothal. The Gaul had charmed the lady so thoroughly she had shone with an unmistakable joy at their wedding. Pity this servant's master had managed to shorten those celebrations and send the two on a flight for their lives.
"My ... my Lord Herod will indeed be most sorry to have missed you, sire. But we received no notice of your honor's arrival."
Other than the word of spies, Linux privately amended. "It is of no consequence.
"Will you take refreshment, sire? Food, perhaps? We have fresh figs plucked just this morning."
"Nothing. But my men wait outside in the heat."
Enos turned to a hovering maid. "Fetch a pitcher of cooled water, and scent it with rose petals."
Linux waved his hand. "That is not necessary."
"And with lemons," Enos added. "Sire, are you certain there is nothing-"
"Water then."
"It will be my sincerest pleasure." The head servant vanished.
Linux stretched out his legs and glanced about. The room was much as he remembered, large and richly furnished in an outlandish fashion. His mind went back to the last time he had seen Alban and Leah. On the day of their wedding celebration, Alban had announced his decision to leave the legions. It had come the same day Linux had received his brother's invitation to present himself. Their two responses could not have been more contrasting. Linux had seethed over the letter's wording, a rude command that was meant to mock and belittle. But what had shocked Linux was how Alban had responded to his own crisis. His friend had every reason to be furious, for Alban had spent his life preparing to lead men into battle. Instead, while Linux feasted upon bile and dreams of revenge, Alban had spoken once again of this Judean God, the joy he and Leah both knew because of this faith. Linux had scoffed at the time, then grown even more angry when Alban refused to argue with him.
Though in truth his anger had little to do with Alban at all.
While passing through the outer gardens shared with Herod, Linux had overheard plans to turn the wedding celebrations into a tragedy. Linux had not given a moment's thought, nor had he hesitated. He'd ordered a subaltern off his horse, claiming urgent business on behalf of Pilate himself, and raced for the Lower City.
Three days later, he had departed for Italy. He had spent much of the ensuing months worrying over the fate of Alban and his new bride.
Enos scurried back across the chamber bearing a golden goblet on a golden tray. But when he saw the scowl on Linux's features, he quailed. "Forgive me, sire, is something-"
"I was recalling the last time I entered this room," Linux said. He lifted his helmet and rubbed his sweat-stained hair. "I stood as witness for Alban at his betrothal."
"To Leah. Of course, forgive me, sire, I remember you now." Enos's voice shook in time with his hands. "But this day-"
"Do you have word of where they might be?"
"I have heard nothing since Leah's final day serving Procula, sire." He handed the goblet to Linux. "But if you were to give me a few days, perhaps I could learn something."
"Any news would be most welcome. You can reach me in the quarters above the fortress stables." Linux drained the water, set the goblet back on the tray, placed his second scroll
next to the goblet, and rose to his feet. "Prelate Marcellus arrives from Rome in a few days. He expects Herod to make this palace his gift of welcome. Have your men break down the walls that divide the palace."
"I will- It will be as you say, sire." Enos bowed to the scroll as he would the emperor himself. "And King Herod-"
"Would be well advised to remain in Tiberius."
"When ... well, when can he be expected to be summoned?"
Linux deliberately turned on his heel and departed, the question hanging in the palace air behind him.
C H A P T E R
NINE
ABIGAIL'S ARMS ACHED, even though she kept shifting the market basket between them. Once again she'd had to go to the market for Hannah, since the woman was ill. The afternoon heat was making her feet drag and her entire body long for some respite.
Once again she set the basket on the cobbled street and molded herself into a shaded corner. If she could just cast her shawl aside and catch the breeze whispering faintly around her ... She fanned the exposed part of her face with the end of her shawl. She still had some distance to go before reaching the compound, and the women waiting to prepare the evening meal would be looking for the produce she carried.
She pulled the shawl's corner more securely over her face, thankful that for today her leg was not causing as much pain as it had recently. Perhaps it was again on the mend.
As she reached down for the basket, a work-roughened hand lifted it before she could. Her head swung around. "Jacob!" She was both surprised and relieved. "What are you doing here? It's not nearly-"
"Just heard some news," he said, "and I couldn't wait to tell you." His face was split by a big grin.
She realized she had to tip her face upward in order to look him in the eye. How quickly he was growing to full manhood. His face glistened with perspiration, and he was panting slightly. She wondered what news would bring him in such haste. "Good news? By the look of you it must be good indeed."
"It is. Great news." His eyes shone with merriment as he waited, the grin firmly in place.
When he offered nothing further she prompted, "And?"
"Alban is coming!"
She grabbed his arms and shook him gently. "You wouldn't tease?"
"Not about this, I wouldn't."
They had been waiting for such word a very long time. They eventually had learned that Alban and Leah had arrived safely to wherever their sudden escape had taken them, though they had not said where that was, no doubt in an attempt to protect them all. But Alban had also promised they would send further word when they felt it safe to do so. Now two years had passed, and Abigail and Jacob had begun to despair of ever hearing further.
The only response she could manage was, "When?" as relieved tears filled her eyes.
"Soon. Alban has hired himself out as a caravan guard."
"How did you hear? Who-?"
"A wood supply just arrived at the shop. The man who made the delivery is one of us, and he got this from a trusted caravan master, also a believer." Jacob thrust his hand into his tunic and pulled out a small roll of parchment.
"A letter? Oh, please, will you read it to me? Quickly!"
" `To our beloved Jacob and Abigail,' " Jacob began, his tone triumphant. "'Greetings in the name of the Lord our Savior. I trust this finds you both well. I have been seeking for some time for a way to contact you without jeopardizing our safety and yours. We are well. My Leah sends her love and regrets that she must wait before seeing you again.' "
Abigail stopped Jacob with a hand on his arm. "Leah is not coming?"
Jacob read on. " `She is unable to accompany me, as she is with child-' "
"A child-imagine, Jacob, Leah a mother. Oh, I do wish I could see her!" She motioned for him to continue.
"'The caravan that I will be guarding, with God's help, expects to arrive sometime within the month if all goes well. Because of my responsibilities, I will not be able to come immediately to you in the city, so I pray you visit me. The caravan master traditionally resides in the south camp. It is within a Sabbath day's journey. I will send a messenger with word of my arrival.
"'I anxiously await our reunion. You may need to look carefully for me, as I no longer look as I once did. Purposely so.
" `Until we are able to see one another, may our God guard you. We have prayed for you both every day and long to be united once again. A.' "
Abigail carefully rerolled the letter. "You are sure this is not a hoax? A way to-"
"Like I told you, the trader who brought our wood is a fellow believer. He would not deceive."
Abigail's legs trembled with her excitement. Did they dare share the news with the others?
Jacob answered her unspoken question. "I don't think we should say anything to the others until we have talked to Alban. He must suspect there still is danger."
Abigail nodded, though realizing how difficult that was going to be.
Her eyes fell on the basket Jacob was holding. "Oh my, Jacob," she exclaimed, "we must get these vegetables into the cooking pots for supper."
The two stepped out quickly, and Abigail staggered as she felt a searing pain up her leg.
"Are you all right?" Jacob asked quickly.
Abigail took a breath and smiled her thanks. "I am now." She pushed her shawl slightly back from her face. The lane ahead was momentarily clear, and she could chance a bit of air. "I don't think I've been better in my entire life."
It was hard to continue through the rest of the day without talk of Alban's upcoming visit, even though they were long used to guarding their tongues and holding close their secrets. Yet Abigail and Jacob both wished for an opportunity to share with others the coming visit.
Abigail managed to fill her time with overseeing food distribution while Jacob occupied a bench in the shade or paced the courtyard by turn.
Evening prayers followed the meal, seeming to be longer than usual. Abigail knew there was much for which to thank their Lord, along with many requests for wisdom and direction for members of their fellowship. But her thoughts kept drifting no matter how tight a rein she tried to maintain.
She understood Jacob's restlessness even though she was not seated beside him. His bearing exuded an energy he obviously found hard to contain.
At length they were free to go. The two were about to leave the compound when Jonah, a member of the newly formed council, approached her.
"I wish to speak with you," he began without preamble. "A meeting of the Council this afternoon included this request from Sapphira-do you know Sapphira, the wife of the man Ananias?" At Abigail's nod, he continued, "She spoke on behalf of her brother. Ezra, the merchant. It seems the man is desirous of a union."
Abigail frowned. A union? She was not in any way related to business or commerce. "I ... I don't understand," she said.
"He wishes a betrothal. With a marriage in short order. He is a widower and has two young children in need of a mother...."
Abigail was certain the man was continuing on, but she was no longer listening. She had no objection to caring for children. But could that not be done without a marriage? She felt her heart pounding. She reached for Jacob's arm. Her lips refused to move. She wasn't sure she even breathed. Her entire body felt numb.
It was Jacob who answered for her. "That is impossible," he said with no hesitancy. "A betrothal cannot be arranged without permission of our guardian. He may have already made plans for her future."
Relief washed over Abigail with Jacob's first words. As he continued with the possibility that she might already be promised, she sucked in some air to try to keep her head from spinning. Surely Alban would not have made plans for her without her knowledge. But Jacob was saying, "Our guardian is to be in touch with us ... shortly. We will pass the man's request on to him when he comes. Until such time, I trust the man-Ezra, is it?-will bear patience."
As Jacob made as though to depart, Jonah nodded. "I suppose that is as it must be. I shall inform Sapphira, and she can
let her brother know that the request has been relayed and will await a hearing."
Jacob nodded in a manner far beyond his years and experience, and Abigail was both astounded and reassured. She heard Jacob muttering but could not make out the meaning of his words. Was he as troubled as she?
They were safely out of earshot before he whispered fiercely, "I know this Ezra. He has come into the carpenter shop. I think only yesterday. He is a pompous old man. Not suitable at all. Have nothing to do with him."
Abigail shivered. "You know I will have no say in the matter." She tripped over an uneven paving stone and would have fallen had Jacob not grabbed for her arm to steady her.
"We will convince Alban. He would never agree to your being passed off-"
"We will pray," Abigail put in. "We will pray intently that God's will be done."
"Alban is not an unreasonable man. Just because this Ezra is wealthy does not mean-"
"He is wealthy?"
"Enough that our master carpenter himself bowed the man into our shop." Jacob studied her. "You would marry for wealth?"
"Of course not," Abigail was quick to respond. "But . . ." She looked away.
"But what?"
"Think of the needs," she said, looking back at him. "Money could do so much for so many followers."
"Are you saying you would give yourself to him for a few bowls of soup?"
Abigail was now near tears. Her lips trembled, and she was glad for the concealment of the shawl. "Jacob, don't," she pleaded. "You know I would not willingly give myself to someone for any reason. But think what it could do for you. You could be trained in something you love instead of ... instead of working as a carpenter, which you do not-"
"I am not a part of this arrangement," Jacob again interrupted. "The man is not intending another one to rear. Besides, I already know what I want to be. And when Alban gets here he will take the steps to work it out for me."
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