“No, master. I won’t accept it.” He turned his face away.
“Look at me, lad. I’ve already told you. I’m not sending you away. But we’re both moving into an unknown future. I need to be certain that if anything happens to me, you’ll be free and you won’t become someone else’s slave.” Alban thrust the document into Jacob’s hands. “Stow it someplace safe. It holds your future.”
Jacob did as he was told, but when he returned, his face was creased with very real sorrow.
Alban asked, “What is it, Jacob?”
“What is going to happen to you?” he sobbed.
Alban rose to enfold him in his arms. “Maybe nothing,” he said as the boy wept against his chest. Alban did not want to unnecessarily alarm the boy, yet he refused to lie to him. Alban tousled Jacob’s hair. “I’m asking you to trust me on this. Now, let’s take a walk. There is something else I need to do.”
They followed the main market avenue west. The easiest place to find in all Jerusalem was the Temple, dominating the city’s highest hill. At the gates, Alban stood to one side, observing the throngs who came and went and watching for a break in the stream of people passing through into the Temple grounds.
Some carried animals that bleated and struggled against the arms that held them, no doubt alarmed at the cries of death and the smell of blood from their kind as they were given in the ritual sacrifices. Gradually Alban began to make out an odd sense of order within the chaos. Numerous families brought their newborn babies, probably for blessing. Many couples came surrounded by merry well-wishers, there to acknowledge publicly the exciting news of their recent marriages and the commencement of new families. Most that came and went were characterized by a common sense of fervor, of passion.
Jacob asked, “What are we waiting for, master?”
“Remember, you are free now. I am your master no longer.”
“What should I call you, then?”
“My soldiers call me sire, my friends call me Alban. Which do you prefer?”
It was good to see the lad smile. “I don’t know. I’ll try them both.”
“Take your time. Either is fine.” He patted the lad’s shoulder.
“I’m waiting for an opening in the crowd.”
“This is the Temple, and it is the festival season,” Jacob observed. “As long as the gates are open, crowds will keep coming and going.”
“Then let us do our best right now.”
But as soon as Alban crossed the lane and started toward the gates, he noticed a change. Though he was not in uniform and bore no weapon, clearly these people knew him for the Roman he was. A space was made for him and Jacob, the expressions surrounding him suspicious and hostile. Alban clenched his jaw and moved forward, keeping his gaze straight ahead.
The guards to either side of the main portal watched him but made no move to stop his progress. He passed from the gate’s shadow into the large Temple courtyard and stepped to one side. The crowd streamed past him, many continuing to cast surly looks his way.
Alban took stock of the vast area. The Temple, directly ahead, was an enormous structure with a triangular roof. Between him and the place of worship was a vibrant, noisy throng—everyone seemed to be in motion. At various points about the compound were corrals for lambs and cages for birds. Elsewhere tables had been set out, where money changers plied their trade. Alban had heard of this from the Capernaum elders, who spoke of the practice with disgust.
Jacob pointed to the left and asked, “What is that?”
Spaced around the outer wall were broad stone shields. “I have heard of these,” Alban told him. “They were set in place by Herod the Great. The inscriptions of all the shields are the same, a warning written in Latin, Greek, Aramaic, and Hebrew, all the way around the plaza. They say, ‘No unbeliever may pass beyond this point, upon pain of death.’ ”
“But why?”
“The Temple and the inner courtyard are only for Judaeans,” Alban replied.
A colonnaded veranda ran down the far side of the courtyard. At several points along its length, men stood and expounded on religious themes. Alban had heard that Jesus had spoken here at the Temple, and he now regretted he was too late to hear him.
He turned and found a guard watching him. Alban walked over and bowed to the Temple officer. He received nothing in return but a defiant stare. “May I ask, where does one offer sacrifice?”
The man’s ire was instantly transformed to astonishment.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You wish to offer . . . You cannot.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are Roman, yes?”
“I am from Gaul.”
The guard waved that aside. “You are a Roman legionnaire.
You are not welcome here.”
The man’s loud tones were attracting the attention of other guards. Alban bowed again and backed quickly away. Now all the guards were casting angry glances at him. But Alban had not come intending to offend anyone and had no wish to cause trouble. He thought swiftly, then dug into the purse at his waist. “Here.” He spilled coins into Jacob’s hands. “Do what is necessary. Buy what you can with that and make a sacrifice.”
“But, sire—”
“Do it for both of us. I’ll wait for you outside. Hurry.”
Alban turned away, heading for the entrance. The guards scowled him back through the gates.
Only when he was outside and standing in the shadows across from the portal did he think about the significance of his experience. He was forbidden to make a sacrifice. He was excluded. Whatever the Judaeans experienced inside the Temple area, it was meant for them and them alone.
He had come simply seeking the God of the Judaeans. Back there in the Galilean night, he had come face-to-face with the certainty that Jesus was both human and divine. And now Alban sought to find him, to know him. Where better to begin than in the Temple where Jesus had often taught?
“Sire?” Jacob tugged on his sleeve. “It is done.”
Alban managed a smile. “Good lad.”
His mind and heart heavy, he followed Jacob through the winding streets, not really aware of their surroundings.
Then he remembered Jesus had already helped him once, bringing Jacob back to health when Alban had asked.
His task was simple: Find Jesus. Ask directly for his permission to join this teacher’s group. After all, Alban was a Gaul who had become a Roman. Why not a Roman who had become a follower of Jesus?
Alban heard the tumult long before he saw it. He and Jacob climbed the cobblestoned lane to discover a crowd filling the square from side to side, with more in neighboring alleys. Alban slowly worked his way through, Jacob right behind him, acutely aware that something momentous must have happened.
The noise inside the plaza was so loud Jacob could scarcely be heard. “Sire, what is going on?”
“I can’t make it out.” Alban gripped the boy’s arm to keep them from being separated. “Where do the disciples meet?”
“Inside the doorway on the plaza’s other side.”
“We will try to make our way there.” The mass of people grew increasingly dense until Alban was forced to shoulder his way through.
Once through the portals, the crowd combined into a solid wall. He looked at Jacob, who motioned toward the stairs. “I have heard there is a room at the top!”
Jacob’s words drew the attention of several men standing beside them. One asked, “What do you seek?”
“I wish to speak with one of the prophet’s disciples,” Alban answered.
“Most are at the Temple praying. Why do you seek them?”
Then the man looked at him more closely. “Are you the centurion betrothed to the woman called Leah?”
They were jostled heavily from behind, and Jacob was thrown against Alban. “I am,” he said, steadying the boy.
The man motioned to them. “Come.”
He threaded his way through the crowd to the stairs.
They climbed slowly behind him. The man led Alban and Jacob into a chamber that held a long table down one side. A few men were seated at benches, deep in conversation. In the far corner four men stood with their heads covered by prayer shawls, rocking gently.
“Now, then,” he motioned them onto benches. “What is it you wish?”
“You are a disciple of Jesus?”
“He called me, and I came.”
Alban felt the man’s simple response resonate through his being. He nodded his understanding. “I am in awe of you, both for being so fortunate as to be called and for being wise enough to answer as you did.”
The man clearly approved of Alban’s response. “You may speak freely.”
“May I ask your name?”
“My name is Bartholomew, but my friends call me Nathanael.”
“I am Alban and this is Jacob.”
“A Roman led into our fold by a young Judaean.” Though probably not much older than Alban, Nathanael had the deeply creased features of a man born to hard labor, and his beard held a silver streak. He smiled down at Jacob. “I have seen you about, have I not?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Did you come seeking answers for this man?” He gestured toward Alban.
The man was still looking at Jacob, but Alban knew the question was really directed at him, so he explained, “I sent him, first to find the disciples, then to learn where the prophet’s body was. And finally to determine if your group was a threat to Rome.”
Nathanael lifted his gaze to Alban. “And who was it who sent you?”
“Pontius Pilate.”
“Did you find the answers you sought?”
“Those and more besides.” Once again he was struck by eyes that held more than intelligence, more than intensity. “Nathanael, I come here wishing to speak with Jesus. I am not a complete stranger to your Teacher. We did not meet, but he knows of me. He healed the lad here.”
“You are the centurion from the Capernaum garrison?”
“I am.”
“I was with our Lord that day upon the road.” Nathanael’s gaze returned to Jacob. “So you are the young servant Jesus healed.”
“Yes, sire.”
The disciple looked back at Alban. “And you are the man whom the Teacher praised for being of such strong faith.”
Out of the corner of his eye Alban saw that some nearby had ceased their discussion, and two of those praying had slipped the prayer shawls down about their shoulders to better observe. Alban pressed what he interpreted as his advantage. “Is that not enough reason to permit me a moment with him?”
“You misunderstand, centurion. It is not possible for you to meet with Jesus, because he has returned.”
“Returned? Back to Galilee? I just came from there—”
“He has returned to heaven.”
“Where . . . where is that?”
“A worthy question. At his instructions, we met our Lord outside Jerusalem on Mount Olivet, a favorite place of his. Before our very eyes he was lifted into the sky. We watched until he entered into a cloud and was lost to our sight. Then heavenly messengers appeared to us and said we were to watch and pray, for he would be coming back for his followers.”
He had wanted to speak to Jesus. Now that he was coming to believe all he was discovering about the man, he was determined to know more of the Master’s teaching. There was so much he needed to learn. To understand. How he envied those who had traveled with him, who had listened to his daily teaching and been able to ask questions and get answers. And now . . .
He turned to face Nathanael. “Do you think he will return soon?”
“All we know for certain is what he told us, which was to watch and wait. We are to stay in Jerusalem until we are given his command.”
“Then he will be back? Here?” Alban’s spirits lifted with hope.
“That is our understanding and our prayer. But before that day, he has promised to send a gift to his believers, one called the Comforter.”
Alban shook his head in bewilderment.
“The Comforter will teach us all things.”
“How will I recognize him?”
Nathanael sobered, then quickly responded, “Jesus will make this clear. How, I do not know. But I have no doubt that it will be so. Until that time we will wait—and pray.”
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
The Disciples’ Courtyard
AFTER REPORTING TO PROCULA about her stay in Bethany, Leah returned to the disciples, ordered by her mistress to seek out anything of signficance. Leah no longer made any objections. Though the search for a threat to Rome from the followers seemed utterly futile, Leah was grateful now for any reason to return.
She climbed the cobblestone lane and worked her way through an enormous mass of people. Bewildered at the sudden increase in numbers, she managed to enter on the side closest to the disciples’ dwelling. She had not moved far across the courtyard when she caught a quick glimpse of Alban, on the other side of the square. She was puzzled, but then all of Jerusalem seemed to be crowded into these streets. Was this the beginning of the riot Rome had feared? Had they called for the army? Fear gripped Leah as she strained to spot any other Roman guards in the crowd. She saw none.
The centurion seemed to be alone save for the young lad who had been present at their betrothal. They had managed to find a niche within the plaza’s far wall, one where shadows protected them from the worst of the heat. Alban was surveying the gathering with a sober expression. But it was the lad standing beside him who was the first to notice Leah. The boy plucked at Alban’s toga and pointed. Alban jolted upright and quickly began to scramble out from their position toward her.
Even when they were next to her, Leah had to nearly shout to make herself heard. “Do you know what is happening?”
Alban’s response was lost to the crowd’s tumult. But she could see now that something troubled him deeply. Leah motioned for them to follow. With great difficulty she led the pair toward the kitchen at the rear of the house. When they arrived, she discovered all work had been abandoned. But at least the place was relatively quiet. Leah heard her name being called by one of the women outside, but she did not respond. She asked once more, “Do you know what is happening?”
“I’m too late. Jesus is gone.” Alban stared out toward the milling throng.
“What do you mean?”
He seemed not to hear her. Leah was close enough to see the lines of strain about his lips.
“Please, come and sit down,” she invited. “There’s no fire, so I can’t make you tea. Wait, here’s some bread. Have you eaten?”
The lad quickly said, “We’ve not had anything since early this morning, mistress.”
Leah delved into the wooden vat at the back of the kitchen. After washing off the brine, she sliced the cucumber and then a wrinkled pepper.
Alban looked down at the plate she set between them. “If only I had come sooner.”
His hopeless look disturbed her. She quickly ladled two cups full of water, found a bit of sheep’s cheese under a cloth, a platter of flatbread under another. At least the boy showed an appetite. He wolfed down everything while Alban crumbled a bit of cheese.
“Eat something. Please.” When he seemed about to protest, she hurried on. “I have something important to tell you. But I will not unless you eat.”
The meal only seemed to heighten his sadness. Leah had so much she wanted to say. She finally could wait no longer. “I have found the answer I have sought.”
He looked for a long time into her eyes.
She found herself shivering. But she feared if she did not continue, her resolve would weaken, and she must hold to this course. She must.
“The answer. It is here.” She placed a hand upon her heart. “Within me. And though I cannot fully explain it, I know it is true. True and powerful.”
Her eyes were so filled with tears now she could scarcely see him. Yet she could feel, if not see, the intensity of his
gaze. She hurried on. “Jesus is the Messiah. Just as his disciples claimed.”
She must say it all before he had the chance to respond. Otherwise she might never find the courage or the strength. “But, Alban, I do not see how I can be joined to a Roman centurion and to his government that threatens these people, my brothers and sisters, with destruction. They—we—plot no revolution. We only seek to live in peace, to worship God.”
When Alban opened his mouth to answer, she pressed on, “Wait, please, I beg you to wait and let me finish. I know there is talk of the restoration of Israel. But I also know now that they expect this to be done by God himself, and in his timing. What earthly power, Roman or otherwise, would dare to stand against Jehovah?”
Alban seemed both bewildered and intent. “I am here,” he said finally, “in search of Jesus. I came because I wished to give him my fealty.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I speak as a soldier would. I do not know the proper way to speak of this. I want . . .”
“You want to follow him?”
“Yes. But Jesus is not here. So I must remain an outsider.”
Alban’s features twisted in genuine pain. “Just as I am barred from offering a sacrifice at the Temple.”
“I . . . I don’t understand.”
Alban related his conversation with the Temple guard. Jacob had finished his meal, and now, eyes wide, his head turned back and forth between the two as they talked. Alban finished, “When I arrived here, I asked for Jesus, only to learn he had been taken away—someplace called heaven. . . .”
Leah could not speak.
“You didn’t know this is what has caused the furor here?” Alban asked her.
“No, I just arrived. . . . He is gone?”
“An angel told the disciples he would return. But this messenger did not say when.” Alban looked despondent. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be accepted. I don’t know how to approach this God.”
“I do not know many things either,” Leah said slowly. “But I know this. A way will be made. We will pray. And we must wait for Jesus.”
Leah was greeted by a warm smile as she entered Abigail’s room the next morning and found her standing by her pallet.
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