Ezra felt the man's grip on his arm. "But the teacher they follow is dead."
"Is he? Are you so certain of that?" Gamaliel's eyes carried a piercing quality. "Have you bothered to hear what they are saying? They spoke their news again yesterday, standing before the group that had threatened them with death. They follow a messiah who departed so that the Spirit of God could breathe upon them all, a messiah who lives within."
Ezra shook his arm free and took a step away. "I cannot believe what I am hearing. You, of all people."
Gamaliel made as to reach again for his friend, then stopped, gripping only air. "I beg you, think upon what I am saying. For your own sake. For the sake of our nation. What if they are right?"
The man's desperate entreaty stretched his features into lines of genuine agony. Ezra had never seen his friend in such turmoil. For a single moment, Ezra felt as though the Temple courts were filled with an otherworldly wind, one so powerful it punched through his skin and his muscles and his bones, causing his very soul to shiver.
Then he caught sight of the crowd on the other side. If anything, their rage burned more fiercely still. Ezra felt it reach out and rekindle the wrath in his own heart. The world settled back into place. The summer heat drenched him.
Ezra walked back across the empty divide. They did not so much make room as enfold him. He caught one final glimpse of Gamaliel standing at the border of the other group, staring at the flagstone floor, his features caught in confusion and sorrow.
Then the crowd drew Ezra away.
Abigail glanced up from drawing water and saw the familiar figure in desert garb. "Alban, how wonderful! I thought-"
"I really can't stay long." He carefully scanned the courtyard before easing himself down on the well's stone wall. "I actually shouldn't have taken the time. My duties are elsewhere."
"Surely you can spare a few moments for something to eat."
"I have not eaten since before dawn. That does sound most appealing."
"I will run," promised Abigail.
Alban's chuckle surprised her. "Walk, please. I will not disappear that quickly."
She was soon back, carrying a cup with fresh well water and a plate of Martha's flat bread wrapped around goat cheese and spring onions.
"Now," she said as she placed the food on a nearby table, "come and eat, please. What brings you here in the middle of a working day?"
"Jacob."
Her heart leapt. "You have found him?"
"He is with Linux." Alban took a bite and followed it with a long draught of the cool water. "It appears he wishes to stay there."
Abigail's spirits sank as fast as they had soared. "I do not like the sound of this."
He nodded. "It concerns me also. Not only over his choice of companion, but also over his safety."
"What are we to do?"
He shifted on the bench, chewing thoughtfully. "There is more, Abigail. I worry about you as well. There are rumors everywhere. The caravan masters tell tales over the campfires. People whisper from house to house. The Sanhedrin grows increasingly irate over how the followers continue to daily grow in numbers. Even the Romans fear the pot could soon boil over."
But Abigail's mind was fastened on her brother. "There must be something you can say to Jacob-"
Alban interrupted, "You also must come with me to Galilee. You can help Leah care for the new baby."
Abigail looked upon her friend and guardian with a little smile. "Have you already forgotten, Alban? I am betrothed."
"Stephen can come for you when he is ready. This likely will settle soon, and it will be safe for your return. Or Stephen too can come with us now. There is much work-"
"Stephen already has his responsibilities here. He cares for the distribution to the most distressed among us. He speaks at the Freedmen's Synagogue. Oh, I wish you could hear him, Alban. The people love him, and he loves them. He wouldn't be able to leave, I know. His place is here. His calling is here. And now my calling is to serve with him."
Though clearly still very concerned, all Alban said was, "You sound very sure of your way forward."
"I have prayed long and hard, Alban. I too have heard the rumors swirling about. I know the situation is uncertain, but God remains the God of power. I belong here with Stephen. Where could we be more safe than where God has placed us?"
Alban reached forward, then dropped his arms. "My dear Abigail, I wish you could hear the beauty in your words."
"If there is anything in what I say, it is only what God has instilled in me."
"I will tell Leah." Alban rose to his feet. "She of course will be disappointed, but she will also understand."
Abigail stood as well. "What are we to do about Jacob?"
"Have you seen him at all since-?"
"No. I heard from the master carpenter that he returned to work one morning, then vanished again. He has not been back to our quarters. I am very concerned." She hesitated, then confessed, "There is an ongoing battle in my soul. Why is it so easy to trust God in some things, and yet ... I fear I keep reclaiming my burden for Jacob."
"God has not forgotten him," Alban assured her. "Continue to pray. It may take a while, but I am certain the divine answer will arrive. Along with Jacob."
That evening Abigail was preparing to depart for the little place she called home when Stephen stepped out of the shadows.
"I worry about you going out in the darkness, Abigail. It isn't good that you travel alone. Especially now-"
"I walk most of the way with others. It is only in the last alley that I am alone."
"I am thinking I will speak with Peter and see if you can have a room here above the storage bins."
"Oh please, Stephen. There is no cause for concern."
"But I worry." Indeed, his voice and concerned expression told her more than his words.
"And I am deeply grateful. But I truly would like to stay where I am for the time being."
"Promise me you will walk with the others, and maybe there are a few who would walk even that alley with you. I will ask among the believers." She attempted further protest, but he raised a silencing hand. "Do be careful. I would not wish to lose you," he said, now with a twinkle in his eye, "before I have even claimed you."
She smiled, then turned serious. "Remember our Lord, Stephen. The same one who led our leaders out of prison is the God who walks with me every night."
He smiled too. A very tender smile. "Of course. May God go with you."
C H A P T E R
TWENTY-EIGHT
LINUX AND JACOB CLIMBED THE ROAD out of the city, skirting the Mount of Olives. The people headed in the same direction made for jovial companions. The opposite side of the road told a different story. The Judeans straggling into Jerusalem mostly came from the surrounding villages, many of them extremely poor. Also, a vast number of those headed into the city looked unwell. The worst were transported on donkey carts or pallets swinging between poles resting on strong shoulders. After climbing each rise and seeing the city walls appearing once again in the distance, the pilgrims' renewed hope seemed to wash over even the neediest ones.
Those headed away did their best to ignore the impoverished Judeans. Everyone on the road walking with Linux was either Roman or allied to the rulers of Judea. They were on their way to the amphitheater built for just such occasions. Judea's new governor had declared this a day of celebration.
The walls of Jerusalem and the gleaming Temple roof finally were blocked from view when they rounded the Mount of Olives. Soon after, they turned onto a paved road heading north. From that point on, the day belonged to those who swore allegiance to Rome. It was a relief to no longer share the road with the maimed and the sick. For a few brief hours they could ignore the city behind them and a people seething with resentment. Rome ruled over a hundred different tribes and races. Yet none had continued to chafe so long under Roman dominion as the Judeans.
It was at this point Linux realized something was bothering him. He stepped of
f the road and turned around.
Jacob looked at him with questions in his eyes.
"A moment." Linux bounded up a steep rise to where he could see the two roads intersecting. Further in the distance was the road from Caesarea. All held a constant stream of the sick and poor and distressed.
Jacob had followed and now stood beside him. "What are you looking at, sire?"
Linux did not respond. His attention was held by the sea of humanity streaming into the city. He recalled how Peter had walked the avenue to the Temple. As his shadow had fallen on those sprawled along the east wall, they leapt up from their beds of affliction and praised their Judean God.
"S ire?"
Linux glanced at the youth by his side. Jacob stood in his shadow, his face showing his bafflement. Linux felt his gut wrench with a vision of what awaited them at the road's end. What influence am I having upon Jacob? Instead of his shadow bringing health and life and joy, the young man who trusted him was being led toward ...
"Enough," Linux muttered to himself. "We go."
The road to the amphitheater recently had been brushed clear of the worst signs of its neglect. Even so, it was clear to Linux the lane had not been used in a very long time. Pontius Pilate had been contemptuous of provincial games. He had also loathed Jerusalem. The arena road had seen little use in nine long years. Between it and the city sprawled one of three camps used by Judean returning for the festival seasons. Today the camp was empty save for stones used as border markers and the burn marks of old campfires. The road served as a natural boundary, for no observant Judean would dream of coming a step closer than necessary to the arena and the blood sports it represented.
The new prelate had brought with him a Roman's lust for blood upon the arena sands. He had proclaimed a three-day festival of games and frivolity to celebrate the new emperor.
As the Roman stadium loomed before them, Jacob interrupted Linux's thoughts. "I have been approached by the Zealots." A hint of pride could be heard in his tone.
Linux stopped in his tracks and stared at Jacob.
"At least, I think it was them," he said. "They sought me out through a friend. They asked what I was doing, spending time with you." Jacob's face was turning red. "I said you were my friend. They didn't like that at all."
Linux gripped the sleeve of Jacob's tunic and drew him off the crowded lane. "What exactly did they tell you?"
"They said that there were better ways for a strong young Judean to spend his days than ..." Jacob's gaze dropped to the ground.
"Go on, my boy. I have been called worse than whatever name they might use."
"They said the Roman dogs had only a brief time left in Judea. And you would flee with the others."
"Did they?"
"They said they could offer me purpose and direction. One in keeping with my heritage. But that if I came with them, I would never return." Jacob's expression was very solemn. "I told them I wanted to be a legionnaire. They ..." He kicked at a stone.
"Yes? Go on."
"They spat at the dust by my sandals. They said that such actions would cast me out forever from the Judean clan."
Linux could see Jacob was in great conflict over this. He knew all the arguments that were available to him. How the Romans ruled the greatest empire the world had ever known, how joining the legionnaires would make him part of the most powerful army on earth. But all Linux could think of just then was how Peter's shadow fell upon people lining the Jerusalem street, and they rose from their distress and they danced.
Linux steered the boy back onto the road. "Come, lad. The day awaits."
The lane was by now lined with makeshift stalls. Greek merchants selling sweetmeats, roasted meats, carafes of rough local wine, fruit, and rice. Colorful paper parasols were used by the commoners to shade against the sun. Closer to the arena, vendors gathered about the gambling stalls, vying for customers by shouting their odds over coming events and gladiators. Competing fans jeered and booed as bets were placed against their man.
Surrounded by the wealthiest and most powerful people in Judea, the two aimed for the southern gates, where the prelate's standard flew alongside the emperor's. This entrance was flanked by the consul's own household guards. Linux returned their salute and entered the shaded passage. The stone walls glistened from a recent cleaning and smelled of lemon and thyme. He reentered the sunlight and started down the stairs toward the governor's stand. Then he realized Jacob was no longer beside him.
Linux hurried back to where the stairs had emerged from the stadium shadows. Jacob stood at the entrance, his mouth agape as he stared around the stadium.
For Linux, the amphitheater was like a hundred others situated around Roman provinces. It crowned a hill just northwest of Gethsemane and the Mount of Olives. Unlike the theater built southeast of Jerusalem or the hippodrome to the southwest, this stadium was a multipurpose affair. Large enough to hold the region's entire Roman population, along with a number of its Hellenistic allies, with the additional rows of wooden seats erected above the initial stone structure. The result gave it a steep and somewhat unfinished look, as though someone had started building and then lost interest midway through the job. Compared to the coliseum of Rome, though, in which four such provincial arenas could have fit, Linux did not find it all that remarkable.
Linux gripped the boy's shoulder and felt him start as though coming awake. "Come."
"The stadium touches the clouds!"
"Not quite."
As the two descended the stairs, Jacob kept his gaze fastened on the arena sands. "Look-two bears dancing on their hind legs!"
Linux hardly glanced at them. "Astonishing."
"And there, those men leaping up, forming a human pyramid! How do they-?"
"They are tumblers, and they spend their lives in practice." Linux moved to look into the royal enclosure. A brilliantly colored awning offered shade against the sunlight. Three sentries stood beside wooden pillars decorated with flowering vines. A pair of incense burners spiced the air. There were a half dozen people already seated, eating and laughing and giving scant attention to the performances in the arena. Linux made sure the consul was not yet among them. Then he turned back to Jacob. "Come, we have work to do."
Beneath the arena's sandy base was a netherworld of dimly lit chambers. The stone walls trapped all sound, and the place rang with such clamor it was impossible to identify any single noise. The few windows were all set high on the outer walls, and sunlight fell through tightly barred openings. Torches sputtered and fumed along the dim hallways. The larger chambers were sectioned off into cages holding all manner of beasts-hyenas, tigers, bears. And men.
Three ramps led up to barred doors, through which slits of sunlight and the crowd's tumult poured. Beyond the third one, Linux entered the quarters set aside for the arena's chief officer. The burly soldier bore the seared features of a former desert dweller. His name was Crasius, and his voice was hoarse and low, no doubt from a wound that creased his neck. "You are late."
Linux pointed Jacob into a dimly lit corner. "Where are your men?"
"This is genuine, the offer you told me about?"
"Gather your men," Linux said. "I want to say this only once."
The officer seemed ready to argue. But in the end he rose and stumped to the doorway. Clearly the men had been waiting for his signal, for at his shout eight legionnaires swiftly filled the chamber. Crasius settled back into his leather-formed chair and barked at Linux, "Be quick about it."
Linux reached into his shoulder sack and slowly extracted the scroll bearing the governor's eagle. "I need a team willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish the prelate's will."
"What is the task?" Crasius growled.
"You will only know upon the day. And only if you agree."
Another man laughed, a rough snarl. "What kind of deal is that?"
"The kind that will free you from this place." Linux waved the scroll so that the eagle glinted in the torchlight. "The task bears gr
eat danger. But in return for carrying out the prelate's orders, you all will be restored to your former ranks and positions. But not here. You will be sent to a more ... shall we say, hospitable place."
The soldiers surrounding the chamber's walls bore the mark of mercenaries, with cruel eyes and leering features and brutal strength. No doubt brawlers and thieves and brutes, they lived by force alone. They had been assigned here as punishment for a variety of crimes, though deemed too valuable to kill or maim outright. It was hoped a stint in the arena's bowels would teach them to obey. Only just reopened, it meant these men faced months and perhaps even years imprisoned here in the cellar teeming with animals and noise and odors. And fear.
Linux added, "And you will be paid well. In gold."
"Words are cheap," Crasius sneered.
"You will have this in writing. And your first payment upon agreement."
"This can only mean we aren't expected to survive."
"There is great risk. But also great reward."
The officer pointed at Jacob. "What's the boy doing here?"
"He serves me. And he plays a vital role in this assignment." Linux rose from his seat. "I go to see the consul. I expect your answer within the hour."
When they returned to the royal enclosure, Linux settled Jacob by the front railing. "Wait for me here. Enjoy the show. We have work to do later."
"Yes, sire." Jacob's attention had already been snared by more performances upon the arena sands.
"I will be back soon."
Linux climbed the enclosure stairs and bowed toward the figure on the miniature throne. "My sincerest gratitude for today's invitation, sire."
"Ah, Linux. Excellent." Marcellus, on an elevated dais to bring him to eye level with those standing about, was seated on a gilded chair at the center of his shaded enclosure. Now that the prelate had arrived, the royal patio was crowded, the prattle brittle with forced gaiety. Marcellus looked annoyed. "I was wondering what was keeping you."
The Hidden Flame Page 21