Abigail listened with her full attention. How wise the words. How beautifully he had expressed what she needed to hear. How deep his faith. She looked at him with new respect.
Alban was nodding, but Jacob seemed not to have been listening. He still looked drawn tightly within himself. Abigail prayed that Alban might be able to get through to her distraught brother.
Abigail pushed her worries about Jacob aside. She had listened. She had heard every word Stephen had spoken. A wonderful truth engulfed her. She was safe. They were all still safe. As long as they followed the ways of God, they had nothing to fear. He was holy-but he was just. And as long as they followed their godly leaders-like Peter, like Stephen-they would remain protected and on the right path.
An unfamiliar stirring in her heart made her lift her head. She had always admired this calm, helpful man, but now she felt drawn to him in a way she had never experienced before. She lowered her gaze before her eyes would reveal her secret.
C H A P T E R
TWENTY-ONE
LINUX MOVED THROUGH THE STABLES attached to the Antonia Fortress, his mind on Umbria.
Normally he did not allow himself to daydream about the home of his youth. But since meeting the prelate earlier in the week, he had been unable to clear his thoughts of such recollections. They crept up and snared him night and day.
The heat was fierce, especially inside the stalls, and the air was crowded with the smells of horses and leather and men. Linux wiped the sweat that beaded on his face and recalled those summer showers from childhood, gentle as a baby's murmur, too heavy to be called mist yet too light to fall like winter's downpours. The rain silenced the world. Linux had loved walking through it, listening to the water condense and drip from every surface. The world of Umbria was so gentle, even the hills were softened.
Linux stepped into an empty stall and swept the hay off the rear wall, patting the stone with both hands. He wondered fleetingly if Abigail would like Umbria. Could he transplant such a beautiful desert flower to Italy? Would she thrive or pine for the hot sands of her world like he did for the land of his birth?
He heard footsteps creak the floorboards overhead. Linux stood utterly still until a voice on the verge of manhood called, "Sire? Linux?"
"Down here in the stables." He stepped from the stall, brushing straw from his hands. He heard the boy tread lightly down the stairs. "How are you, lad?" he said as Jacob came into view.
The boy was troubled. Linux could see that much from his silhouette moving toward him. His shoulders were pulled together and he was tilted slightly, as though young burdens had become too heavy for him to remain fully upright. "What are you doing, sire?"
Linux knew Jacob had long proved himself to be a safe pair of hands when it came to holding secrets. "I am on an errand for the prelate. I needed to wait until the stable master and his men broke for the midday meal."
"Can I be of help?"
"You can keep me company, how is that?"
Jacob climbed up on one of the barriers separating the horses as Linux moved into the next stall and began scraping away the detritus covering the stone wall. "Alban has arrived," Jacob said.
The news brought Linux's head up. Alban was back! Yet the lad's expression was anything but joyous.
"You don't sound happy about it."
"After Alban left us, I quarreled with Abigail this morning. Again. I hate it when we fight."
"I was never much good at squabbling with women myself." The stones had not been touched in years and were covered with a thick layer of old straw and dust and refuse. Linux spied a wooden rake used to clean the stalls and scraped away at the stone. "Do you want to tell me about it?"
"I can't remember my birthday. She did not want to tell me when it was."
The family tragedy captured in those words halted Linux for a moment before he moved to the next stall. "Abigail does not want you to know the day you were born?"
"I will soon turn fifteen. That is the age of joining the legions."
"Ah. Of course. Keep an eye out for anyone coming in the entrance, will you?"
Jacob swiveled about so as to face the stable entry. "Do you think I can become a legionnaire and also be a good believer?"
Linux moved to the next stall and scraped away the filth. "You're asking the wrong man."
The flies buzzed around the horses not being used for duty that day and slumbering through the heat. Linux hurried from one stall to the next, chased by the knowledge that the stable hands would soon return.
By the time Linux had worked his way down the enclosure, he feared his memory had played tricks on him. Either that or the information had been nothing but idle gossip.
When Linux had first arrived in Jerusalem, he had served under a tribune whose family had lived in Judea since the time of Herod the Great. Linux had revered the officer and enjoyed his tales of bygone days. One night after several goblets of ale, the tribune had told Linux how the old Judean ruler had fashioned a special gate for himself through the Temple wall. Herod the Great then could enter the Temple compound without being forced to join with the common folk. In truth, however, he had done it because the Temple priests despised their ruler. To the Sanhedrin, Herod the Great was not Judean at all, but rather a Hasmonean, a desert tribesman who had taken Judean citizenship merely to claim the throne. Fashioning a private entrance into the compound was his way of establishing a claim and a power separate from the priests.
Linux had recalled the tale in the middle of yet another sleepless night. He was still uncertain whether he was going to act upon the prelate's offer. But in order to give himself the time and freedom to make that choice, he wanted Marcellus to think he was at least trying to fulfill his charge.
Suddenly Linux discovered he was scraping dirt off an ancient portal. "It truly exists!" came out in a hoarse whisper.
"S ire?"
"Nothing. Keep a sharp watch on the entrance."
"The lane is empty of all save heat and dust, sire."
"Good lad." Linux stood in the rearmost stall. The space was filled with broken tools and saddles. The rear wall, masked by dust and years of disuse, contained a wooden portal. Linux used a rake handle to clean off enough to be certain what he faced. He prodded the door, and the wood gave off a hollow clunk.
Linux leaned a bundle of tools against the now uncovered wood and started back toward Jacob. The closer he came, the more evident was the boy's distress. "What's the matter?"
"Something terrible has happened."
His first thought was that the new prelate had moved against the sect. It was logical enough. Win favor with the Sanhedrin by wiping out this troublesome group. Linux felt his chest gripped by a very real fear. "Abigail, is she-"
"She is fine, sire. Well, not fine. But she is all right." Jacob kicked at the wooden slats. "As all right as any of us are today."
"Tell me what happened!"
Jacob continued to kick the wooden barrier. "Peter killed a man.
"What?"
"And his wife."
"Surely not. Peter is the respected leader of your clan."
"I was not there, but I heard. Peter spoke to them and they died."
Linux stepped up close to where Jacob sat upon the railing. "Start at the beginning and tell me what happened."
Jacob related what he had heard. When the lad finished the tale, Linux tried desperately to sort through what he had just been told. "So two members of your clan lied to the leader about money they had gained from selling land that was theirs to sell."
"Abigail and Stephen say it is the Holy Spirit that killed them. They lied to God, not to Peter." Jacob rubbed his face with his hands. "I don't understand what they mean."
"Nor do I."
"Abigail says ..."
"Go on."
"She says our Lord demands that we be true to him in our hearts." Jacob's voice rose. "But my heart says I want to be a legionnaire!"
"And so you shall."
"But Abigail says I
can't. Not and be true to my God!"
"Have you spoken with Alban about this?"
"I tried. Last night and again this morning. He told me to wait. I fear he may agree with Abigail." He looked down at the floor. "What if he says no?"
Linux rose to his feet, one hand gripping the lad's shoulder. "I think it's time the two of us had a word with our friend. But first, you and I will visit the baths."
An hour later, Jacob led Linux toward the southern gates. The city baked as though on a red-hot anvil. Most of the market stalls they passed were shuttered and the lanes largely empty. The few people they passed flitted from one spot of shade to the next. A pair of dogs lay directly in their path, panting hard, unwilling to lift themselves out of the way. Linux stepped over them and continued on. Once again he was a lone Roman walking along Jerusalem's streets. But no one even bothered to glance his way. Today the heat was his shield.
His thoughts weaved and shimmered like the sunlight reflected off the cobblestones. He recalled Abigail dancing with joy after she had been healed, her face filled with an ecstasy so intense it stunned him still. He heard again the power in Peter's voice, and felt anew the desperate longing he had known that night.
He remembered the palace gardens and the shimmering fountain and the way the daylight had glinted in the prelate's eyes. Now, as he walked the empty lane, Linux heard the governor inviting him to carry out a mission, a theft from the Temple. Would he be stealing from the Judean God? Though from what he knew of their religious leaders, they likely had stolen the gold themselves.
Jacob, beside him, took a hard breath, and Linux was drawn back to the empty lane. Clearly the lad carried an immense burden. "Steady, lad."
"I was thinking about that dreadful day. They'd sent me on a delivery. When I left, everything was fine. When I came back.. ."
Linux finished the thought for him, seeking to make the concept real. "They were gone."
They continued on in silence for a time, then Jacob added, "Everything seems so confusing. For months and months I've longed for Alban's return. Now he's here, but nothing seems to be any clearer. Like everything is tied up in this terrible confusion...." He shrugged. "I don't know how to say it."
Linux gave that a long moment, then offered a confession of his own. "I first came to Judea five years ago this summer. I feel like I've spent five years waiting for something to happen. Waiting for my time to come." He glanced over. "Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"
"Oh yes, sire. I have felt the same way since going to work for the carpenter."
"Now I'm getting hit from all sides. First my brother pulled me back to Umbria and reminded me of all I have never been allowed to claim as my own. Then Rome ... feeling the empire taking a turn that, well ..." Linux stopped. He could not finish that confession, not even to this lad. "Then I return to Judea and see Abigail once again. Now the meeting at your compound and the healing."
Jacob turned toward him. "Do you ever have the feeling that all these things are somehow connected?"
"Jacob, you might as well have taken the thought from my own head."
"But that's impossible." He searched Linux's face. "Isn't it?"
"Logic says yes. My heart ..."
Jacob nodded slowly. "I feel so afraid, and I do not know why."
"It is the sign of a strong man, to confess weakness." Linux cast a look around him. "Where are you taking me?"
Jacob pointed toward the city wall. "Alban awaits beyond the Pool of Bethesda."
"But ... that is the caravan site."
"Yes, sire. Alban is serving as guard."
Linux was still digesting that bit of news when they passed beneath the Damascus Gate and entered bedlam.
The dusty plain beyond the city gate was divided into parcels, each containing a different caravan. Two of the merchants were readying their convoys for departure. The drovers shouted and whistled, the animals complained, the dust swirled. Jacob led Linux along a rutted path to the northernmost campsite. The noise was somewhat less there, and the dust blew away from them.
In the shimmering light Linux saw what might have been a familiar figure. Only this man, bearded, was dressed in peasant robes, tied about his waist with a cloth belt. His feet and lower legs were white with chalky dust. He was bent over a horse's rear leg, scraping away at the hoof with a curved blade. Only when the man glanced up, waved, and hurried toward them was Linux certain the man was Alban.
Even Alban's smile was different. Broader, stronger, more open than Linux recalled. Linux accepted the man's rock-hard embrace. "How the mighty have fallen."
"Hello, old friend. How are you?"
"Better than you, or so it would seem."
"Are you certain of that?"
"I am the one still wearing the uniform of a Roman soldier."
"Indeed you are." Alban called to the drover holding the horse's reins, "Walk him around a bit and see if the limp eases up."
Linux asked, "You doctor horses now?"
"It gives me pleasure to heal." He clapped Jacob on the shoulder. "Come, let us find ourselves a bit of shade."
They entered the shelter of a Bedouin tent. Jacob hovered at the borders, glancing uneasily from one face to the other. Alban asked, "Won't you join us, Jacob?"
"I ... I don't ..."
Alban sighed. "Go and fetch us some water, please."
When Jacob had departed, Linux said, "He is sorely troubled."
"As are we all."
Linux noted the grave set to his friend's features. "So your leader really killed those people."
Alban was long in responding. "The news was awaiting me when I arrived yesterday. I could scarcely believe it myself. I have spent the entire night praying about it."
Linux was beset by several impressions, one piled on top of the other. Alban appeared immensely calm. His features were stretched taut with exhaustion, which was scarcely a surprise, since he had trekked for days and perhaps weeks with the caravan and then spent a night without sleep. Even so, his voice remained steady, his eyes clear. More than that, he spoke with Linux as though they had been apart for only a few hours rather than over two years. Linux asked, "Has your God answered you?"
"Perhaps." Alban's features drew back in a dust-creased smile as Jacob reappeared bearing a sloshing leather bucket. "And what a welcome sight, Jacob-both you and the water." They both chuckled, and Jacob came up with a weak smile. Alban accepted the ladle, handed it to Linux. They both drank their fill before handing it back to Jacob.
Linux spoke once more. "I thought your God was a God of peace."
"He is the Lord of all things." If Alban noticed how Jacob kept his focus upon Linux, he gave no sign. "Only time will tell whether my impressions are correct. As far as I know, our Lord has spoken to no one to explain what happened. But I will share with you what I think, if you wish."
"Does this God of yours speak with you often?"
"No. But he makes his will known. His Holy Spirit moves among us. I'm practicing listening and hearing and obeying."
Alban refilled the ladle and drank again. Then he settled back and stretched out his legs. Linux knew his friend would wait all day until he himself said the words. "Speak, then."
"You have heard of the miraculous healings Peter and the other apostles have performed, yes?"
"I have seen one."
Jacob said, "He was there the night Peter healed Abigail."
"Ah, then you know that the power is real. You accept this."
Linux gave a reluctant nod. "I know what I have seen."
"Then why, may I ask, do you not wish to pray with me and find answers for yourself?"
Linux found his nod moving to a slow rocking of his entire body. He stared out into the sunlight. Out to where the donkeys brayed and the drovers pushed the camels to their feet.
Alban nodded himself, as though Linux had given the answer he expected. "Abigail's injury happened the month before Leah and I were married. Yet Peter only prayed for her healing the n
ight you and that other man came seeking her hand. What is the merchant's name?"
"Ezra," Jacob supplied.
"Why did God wait until then, do you think? Is it possible God wanted to reveal to you his power? To help you understand that he is who he claims to be? To strip you of any excuse that you might think you have to reject him?"
"We were speaking," Linux said, "about the death of two people."
"We are speaking about miracles. Peter did not heal Abigail, Linux. The Lord our God performed a miracle of healing through Peter. The apostle allowed himself to be used. He sought to hear when the Lord spoke, and to do his will." Alban glanced at the lad seated by the entrance. "Just as all of us should seek to serve our Lord."
Linux saw Jacob wince and lower his head. He felt a flare of protective anger. But he resisted the urge to lash out in the boy's defense. "Would you commit murder if your Lord ordered it?"
Now Alban was the one who dropped his gaze. He looked in physical pain, and his voice sounded uneven. "I have asked myself the same question all night long. When I arrived I spoke with several who had witnessed the event. Peter did not order the two to die. Nor did he touch them. He condemned them for lying, not to himself, but rather to God and his Spirit. As soon as Peter said those words to each, the man and his wife collapsed there before the gathering and breathed their last."
"He didn't touch ..." Linux glanced over at Jacob, who was staring at Alban. "I don't understand."
Alban began drawing in the sand at his feet. "I told you before, God has not spoken with me directly. I have prayed for guidance, I have begged for illumination. And I have talked with Stephen. But I don't ... I can only tell you both what my heart is saying. I think a time of great trial is coming. A time of testing. A time of division." He continued to draw in the sand. "I fear we believers will be tested ... unto death."
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