The Tenth Saint

by D. J. Niko

He kissed her hand. “You leave Sir Richard to me. I’ll see you in Paris.”

  Nineteen

  By the early light of day, the city of Aksum looked astonishingly progressive to Gabriel’s weary eyes. The town sprawled for miles, occupying a vast tract stretching from the town center to the distant hillsides. The houses away from town were the most elaborate, constructed with uniform square stones fitted with loose concrete mortar. Doors were made of heavy wood planks held together with iron studs, and windows were covered with shutters to keep out the cold. The wealthy inhabitants of the outer realms lived in compounds, with several buildings clustered together, each dedicated to a different function, such as cooking or washing or sleeping.

  Gabriel walked past one such compound on his way to the town’s commercial core. Even at the dawn hour, the house was stirring. He saw three slave girls bent over a wood fire, preparing food for the families. The smoke was redolent of juniper, at once sharp and sweet: the smell of the mountains. A young man, possibly one of the sons, stood by the doorway thumbing a string of blue glass beads. He was dressed in immaculate white linen, his shoulders draped with a block-printed cape obviously imported from the lands to the east.

  Gabriel tried to avoid his gaze. He knew he looked like a stranger with his overgrown ruddy beard, fair skin, and clothing identifying him with the Arabian peninsula. Wearing indigo to everyone else’s white, he stood out like a singular sapphire in a sea of pearls. Where the locals were scrubbed clean and neat of dress, he looked like a beggar. His Bedouin robes were tattered, and his face was black with a combination of grime, sweat, and guano. He smelled like he felt: filthy, beaten, old. He kept his head and gaze low and his arms tucked to appear meek.

  The young man called to him.

  Gabriel did not comprehend the language. He replied in the Bedouin dialect. “What is this place, kind master?”

  The boy twisted his face into a look of contempt and uttered a few more words.

  Gabriel did not want a confrontation. He waved and walked away, continuing the trek into the town center. He followed a cobbled path to the inner quarter, where buildings were modest and built so near one could hear the whispers of one’s neighbors. The masonry was rough, nothing like the dwellings of the gentry, and roofs were covered with thatch.

  The places of worship, however, were impressive. The first building Gabriel came to was a magnificent church carved entirely of stone with keyhole openings for windows and a carved iron door. The structure was almost Byzantine with its clay-tiled dome roof crowned by a simple wooden cross. Its stonemasonry was near flawless and must have taken the craftsmen years to construct, considering their limited tools and resources. He could not resist the urge to go inside. Though he was known to no one and clearly of a different tribe, he suspected Coptic Christians would show tolerance and compassion for all souls, regardless of color or culture.

  The church interior was divided into small chambers, each decorated with murals of saints and the Christ, their eyes gleaming in the soft yellow light of the candelabra. The stones were polished smooth and smelled faintly of smoke and incense. Encouraged by the fact that he was alone, Gabriel kneeled before the altar in gratitude that he had come this far. He prayed for nothing, for it was not his custom to pray. He believed in the divine unseen, that which he called God, but he did not tie his faith to an accepted method of worship or to scriptures. He trusted only what he felt, and at that moment he felt the presence of God inside him.

  And he felt loss. A dull ache from an old wound that had never healed right. He inhaled deeply and let the sensation fill him. It wasn’t sadness anymore, just an awareness of the impermanent nature of all things. The divine order that his contemporaries had tried at all costs to manipulate and vanquish and that he had come to appreciate only when everything had been stripped from him. He sat with his palms open and pointing in the direction of the sky, ready to receive whatever would come.

  The Aksumites were an industrious but fraternal people. They knew prosperity, for trade flourished in their kingdom. Though they could only grow wheat and tefF in the granite mountains of the highlands, they had the means to buy what they lacked and the skill to make the rest. The biggest benefit of being at the heart of the world’s most important trade route was that they came in contact with Romans, Arabs, Egyptians, and Nabateans and brought away something from each.

  Prosperity had carried with it greed and a class system Gabriel had not encountered on the east side of the Red Sea. The nomad societies were different in that regard. They coexisted and respected each other and the laws of the land. In this place, the class societies of the West were taking root and, with them, the conflicts and injustices bred by inequality. But there was also charity. Those with plenty hired and fed those who had nothing. Gabriel didn’t know whether to attribute that to the Christian faith these people had embraced, but he was thankful for it.

  The local blacksmith, Hallas, took pity on him and let him work at his shop, shoveling iron filings into the cauldrons and hammering molten metal into everything from spears to cooking pots in exchange for a plate of food. More importantly, he taught him enough of the local language that they could communicate.

  After a day’s hard work, Gabriel sat down to a meal with Hallas and his sons. The blacksmith spooned sticky millet porridge onto a tin plate and topped it with two chunks of overcooked sheep’s meat. “It’s not as good as my wife made, but it fills the belly.” Hallas guffawed. His laughter turned to a nasty cough, likely a side effect of years of inhaling fine iron particles and soot.

  “Where’s your wife, then?”

  Hallas didn’t bother to stop chewing before speaking. “Dead. Died when she gave birth to this one.” He pointed to his youngest son, a wide-eyed boy of about twelve.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The blacksmith shrugged. “It’s life.”

  At the end of the meal, Hallas offered his new worker a straw bed next to his sons’. Even though it was the warmest bed in town, Gabriel declined politely. He did not want to take advantage of the blacksmith’s generosity, and anyway he craved the time alone. He bade his hosts good night and started the long trek up the hillside to the cave that had given him shelter the first night.

  When the bats left, rising by the thousands from their granite womb like souls departing, he entered what he had come to know as his sanctuary. Warming himself and meditating by the meager flames of a campfire, he found peace among the stones. Even the wolves’ cries had come to feel familiar, like long-lost friends calling him home.

  On the long days of winter, Gabriel was most grateful for his work at the smithy. The copious fires of the furnace and the exertion of manipulating molten metal drenched him in sweat while frosty winds howled outside. On one of those dreary days, the messenger of the king came. The crimson-robed captain on horseback summoned Hallas, and the blacksmith kneeled before the noble visitor.

  Without dismounting, the captain delivered his decree. “Now hear this. Ezana, king of kings, most pious and just ruler of Aksum, calls upon the blacksmith Hallas to forge armor for five thousand men who have been called to war. It must take no longer than the end of winter to complete this task, for on the first day of spring the king and his army ride for Meroe to battle the great enemy to the north. You will make the archetype of this armor and bring it to the palace. If it pleases the king, you will be paid two gold coins and, when the king returns from war victorious, twenty more.” He raised his right arm to the sky. “Praise be to God. Long live the king.”

  “Long live the king,” Hallas repeated. “This humble servant of the king is honored to be appointed with so important a task and pledges to serve His Lordship dutifully.”

  The captain rode toward the palace, and Hallas whooped with delight. His sons gathered round and lifted him off his feet in congratulations.

  Gabriel observed them, smiling. Twenty gold coins was a lot of money, enough for Hallas to retire and his sons to marry very well.

  Hallas procl
aimed an end to the workday and ordered his younger son to fetch wine and tobacco, two luxuries reserved for only the most important occasions. The blacksmith beckoned Gabriel to join them in celebration of their fortune.

  “Tonight, we drink to the king,” Hallas said. “The great and generous Ezana has smiled upon us.”

  “To the king,” his sons said in unison.

  Gabriel raised his glass. “And to the man who won the king’s favor.”

  It pleased him to see the three men in such high spirits. They were simpleminded and honest, never complaining about a brutal day’s work. They accepted their lot in life, never challenging or detesting it. And now, it seemed, they were rewarded for every ounce of hard labor and every iron filing they had swallowed in the line of duty.

  Hallas gulped his wine until the glass was empty. “Gabriel, my friend, you will help us, and for this you will be paid not only in food but in gold.”

  “I am happy to help you, friend, but you need not pay me. Keep it for your family.”

  “I insist. If you do not accept, you are no longer in my employ.”

  Gabriel laughed at the dramatic proclamation and accepted the pipe from the eldest son. The tobacco was sweet and smooth, but it made him nostalgic for the camel dung he’d once smoked with Da’ud. He exhaled the smoke skyward as an offering. May you know peace, old friend.

  A fortnight later, the armor and weapons were ready and Hallas prepared the horses for the ride to the palace. Gabriel carried the pieces to the stables and helped Hallas tie them down to the saddles. There were swords, long and short, spears, helmets, body armor, and shields of varying sizes. All told, they loaded four horses, one for each of them.

  The horses’ hooves clopped rhythmically on the cobblestones as the four rode to the fortress on the rock at the edge of the city. The many trees lining the stone path were barren and covered in snow, but the brisk air carried the scent of renewal.

  “Whoa there.” Hallas, who was leading the line, called to his fellow riders to halt their horses.

  They had reached the palace gates. A massive wooden door as tall as four men swung open, and the guards bade them pass into the courtyard.

  Gabriel had never entered the realm of a king before, for in his time there were no kings, only men who bought or stole power. In fact, he found the entire concept rather tiresome and the idea of bowing before a mortal man offensive to his Western sensibilities. But this was not his world to judge, so he reminded himself to observe silently and follow the others’ lead.

  When the king entered the chambers, all bowed so deeply their hair brushed the floor. Gabriel shrank as best he could, trying to blend with the Aksumites as much as his strange appearance would allow. His facial hair, now matted beyond any hope of untangling, and the permanent soot on his hands and face helped— but anyone who took a second look would know he was foreign. His goal was to stay in the background.

  King Ezana was a giant of a man, dressed in indigo and red robes draped elaborately around his considerable shoulders and cinched at the waist with a thick belt of leather from which dangled the incisors of lions. Around his neck he wore a golden Coptic cross the size of a man’s palm. His head was covered with a tall fez whose wide crown was draped with chains of silver and gold. His skin was dark as night, his features chiseled and fine as a Roman’s, his cheekbones high, jaw strong, nose curved like a raptor’s, and eyes fierce with ambition. But his most distinct characteristic was his canine teeth, both made of solid gold. The king cut an imposing figure. Despite his contempt for royalty, Gabriel found himself in awe of the raw power manifest in the absolute ruler of these people.

  Ezana sat on the throne at the far end of the chamber and stared stone-faced at the assembly of panoply that had been laid before him. A lanky man with shaven head and military dress approached the throne and sifted through the armor, scrutinizing its quality so he could properly advise the king.

  Gabriel looked at Hallas and his sons. All three wore the look of dread, as if at any moment the king would approach and give them ten lashings for presenting His Divine Majesty with such inconsequential rubbish.

  No such thing happened. Ezana listened to all the criticism of his advisor—”the swords aren’t heavy enough, the helmets are weak at the base”—but didn’t deliver his own verdict until he walked to the equipment and examined it himself. He swung the swords with the skill of an accomplished warrior and checked their blades with a leather-gloved hand. He inspected every shin guard, every helmet, and the point of every spear before laying down his decision.

  “Our enemies in Meroe ought to fear us,” he bellowed. “The men of Aksum ride to battle at first snowmelt. And victory will be ours, God willing. This fine armor will serve us well.” He called to his advisor. “Laloum, compensate these men for their trouble.”

  Hallas and his sons beamed with relief. It was a dream come true for them, and it pleased Gabriel to know their lives’ efforts would finally be rewarded. But the happy scene did not last long.

  A lady of the court burst through the door in tears. “My lord, come quickly. It’s Aria … She was chasing birds and fell into the fountain. She’s not breathing.”

  “The king’s youngest daughter,” Hallas whispered to Gabriel. He crossed himself. “God protect her.”

  Ezana and his guards and advisors exited the chamber in haste. Gabriel, Hallas, and the boys followed.

  As the king made for his daughter’s bedside, Laloum organized the troops. He instructed one of the guards to ride double-time into town to fetch a doctor, asked a group of court ladies to ready smelling salts and compresses, and ordered another group to pray and chant for the girl’s recovery.

  Gabriel knew he shouldn’t intervene, but he couldn’t stand by when a child’s life was in danger. He knew his skill was greater than these people imagined and that he had a shot at saving her life. If she had drowned, every minute was valuable. By the time a doctor got there, all could be lost.

  “I am a medic,” he told Laloum. “I can help the child.”

  Hallas shook his head, horrified. “No, no, no. Gabriel, you should not do this. Leave it to those who know.”

  Gabriel waved him oft” and steeled his voice. “Please, Excellency. I beg you. Let me try. I lost a son once. I cannot bear this to happen to another father.”

  Laloum stared at him with cold raven eyes, his jaw tight with distrust. “If you are lying, God help me, I will kill you with my own hands.”

  Gabriel lowered his head. “Please, for the love of God. I must go to the child.”

  Laloum gestured for Gabriel to follow him.

  In the bedchamber, the queen was hysterical over the girl’s limp body. A coterie of women were running about like mad, opening windows to let in cold air, fanning the child and loosening her clothes.

  Laloum ran to the king’s side and relayed Gabriel’s proposition. The king nodded, and the advisor led Gabriel to the girl.

  The girl’s chest wasn’t moving. Gabriel checked her mouth for breathing. Nothing. When he put his ear to her chest, he heard only the rapid thump of his own heartbeat. The girl’s heart had stopped. He gestured to everyone to make room.

  Though it had been years since he had last tried to resuscitate, he remembered just what to do. He gently pumped the ball of his palm on her chest until the water had been expelled, then tilted her head back and blew air into her lungs. Begging God to give him the power to save the girl, he thought of his own son, lying lifeless in his arms as the raging fires filled their home with smoke. He repeated the motions until he thought he heard a faint heartbeat and, encouraged, kept at it.

  The town doctor arrived, rushing to little Aria’s side and ordering the stranger away, but Gabriel continued, convinced he was breaking through. The doctor, however, would have none of it and pushed Gabriel to the ground.

  At the sound of his body hitting the floor, the girl half opened her eyes.

  Everyone looked at her, astonished. The queen let out a squeal and thr
ew her arms around her daughter. The ladies of the court crossed themselves and directed their eyes toward the ceiling.

  “She is well,” the doctor proclaimed, as if he had restored her life. “Aria lives.”

  The king walked to Gabriel, who still lay on the floor on his side, and offered his hand. Gabriel took it and let Ezana pull him to his feet. The two men’s eyes met for a second before Gabriel diverted his gaze to the ground, surprised at how intimidated he felt.

  Ezana squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder with a strength befitting his prowess. “What you have done here, I have never seen. I don’t know who you are, white stranger, but you have a gift. You have the power of healing.”

  Gabriel couldn’t find the words. His heart raced, chasing all thought out of his brain. He just stood there, nodding nervously.

  Ezana took Gabriel’s bearded chin in his palm and, with a strong grip, turned his face to and fro. “Do you come from Rome? Who are your people?”

  Gabriel spoke in a hushed tone, self-conscious and aware that every eye in the room was upon him. “I come from the West, my lord. But I have not lived there for a very long time. My life was in the Rub’ al Khali … with Bedouin nomads.”

  “What is your name?”

  “Gabriel, my lord.”

  “Do you believe in God, Gabriel?”

  “I do, my lord.”

  “That is good.” He nodded and turned to the gathered masses. “God has worked his miracle here today. God has spoken to us through this man.” He pointed to Gabriel. “Remember the name Gabriel. From this day forward, I, Ezana, son of Ella Amida, servant of God and the Lord Jesus, conqueror of all empires, and king of kings, hereby proclaim Gabriel of Arabia my personal doctor and advisor.”

  Gabriel was stunned at the proclamation. “But, my lord—”

  Ezana silenced him with a raise of his massive paw. “Laloum. See that Gabriel has the proper armor. He will ride with us to Meroe and serve as the medicine man of our military regimen. With him at our side, no enemy can defeat us.” He waved his fist in the air. “The might of Aksum will crush all who stand against us.”