The End of the Magi

by Patrick W. Carr

  The star above the house flared, casting light even a full moon could not have matched, overwhelming their torches and casting shadows of them all on the rough stones of the street. Myrad trembled beneath the overpowering sensation of being in the presence of something or someone holy.

  As one, the company fell to their knees, overshadowed by the light of the star bathing the child in radiance. Prayers spilled from Myrad and all around him. He heard those of the caravan giving glory to God with songs and praise in Parthian, Persian, Greek, and Aramaic. Time ceased to have any meaning. One moment the light of the star filled him, and in the next he stood, waiting, as the man’s gaze took in their clothes and armor, so different from that of the Romans.

  “I suppose you’ve come a very long way,” the man said.

  Walagash’s laughter rumbled in the still air. “The tale of our journey is too long for what remains of the night.”

  “Come in. I’m Joseph.” He nodded toward the young woman at his side. “And this is my wife, Mary.”

  “The child,” Yehudah said before they rose to their feet, “what is his name?”

  “Jesus,” Joseph replied.

  “The language of Israel is known to most of us,” Hakam said. “What’s the child’s name in Hebrew?”

  “Yeshua,” Joseph answered.

  They entered, as many of them as could fit, and spread throughout the room until there hardly remained any place to stand.

  Yehudah smiled. “Please, tell us of the child’s birth.”

  “I can only tell you of my part and what the angel of God chose to tell me,” Joseph said. “Mary will tell you what the angel Gabriel said to her.”

  Myrad stood listening with rapt attention, unconscious of any discomfort in his ankle as the two shared their story of shame and triumph and travel to Bethlehem leading up to the child’s birth. When they finished, he was filled with utter amazement, the vision of the tale coming to life in his imagination.

  “Tell me of yourselves,” Joseph said, “and how God brought you to us.”

  In brief, halting sentences, Yehudah related their own tale, yet his face showed traces of concern. “Herod knows of our intention. He may be searching for us even now.” He moved to one side, signaling the cataphract behind him forward with a portion of the gold they’d brought with them. Hakam and Myrad mimicked him. Joseph and Mary watched as the soldiers offered their gifts. Their eyes grew big when the soldiers made repeated trips to the packhorses.

  “Why?” Joseph asked, but it was Mary who answered.

  “Because He is the Messiah. Immanuel.”

  Myrad studied the child’s face, searching for some mark of the destiny that lay upon Him. Surely some hint of the child’s future would reveal itself in His visage. How could it not? The Most High God had moved events on earth and in heaven for this child. Yet other than the wide-eyed gaze that took in everything around Him, the child appeared no different from any other. Myrad struggled to reconcile the flesh-and-blood babe before him with the witness and behavior of the King’s star that had guided them for months.

  Late into the evening, they listened once more to the extraordinary tale of the child’s birth. Afterward they bedded down on the floor and slept for the remainder of the night. Slumber washed over Myrad like a wave, and he floated unaware of kings or plots. Standing in the desert again, he blinked, unsure if he was dreaming or if he’d stumbled to this place in a waking daze. He searched the sky for the King’s star, but the pinpoints of light he saw were all unremarkable and familiar. The star had vanished.

  Then he remembered. They’d found Him. Mary had told them how she’d been forced to give birth in a stable, as if the child were nothing more than one of the animals. Hakam appeared angry while Masista seemed amused, but Yehudah only nodded, understanding. Something had spoken to him.

  Myrad stood beneath the sky, waiting for the voice and wondering. What could God possibly have left to say? Without transition, the rest of the magi stood with him along with their guards, staring into the sky, waiting. A hand, small but strong, crept into his. Roshan stood next to him, her hair loose, her face turned upward.

  “Do not return to Herod,” the voice commanded, and Myrad’s entire body resonated with the words spoken. “He will seek to kill the child.”

  He waited, listening, but nothing more was said.

  Myrad awoke to a sky lightening to gray and the stirring of their company.

  “You must safeguard the child,” Yehudah was saying to Joseph. “The Most High God has told us that Herod means to kill Him. Even faced with the certainty of death, the king will tolerate no rival.”

  Concern etched lines into Joseph’s face. “God’s hand is on the child. The angel of the Lord spoke to me. We will flee to—”

  “Don’t tell us,” Yehudah said. “If we are taken, we cannot reveal what we don’t know.” For a moment, he looked as if he wanted to say more, but then he suddenly turned to leave. “Tell no one we were here, not until it is safe.”

  They left the house at dawn beneath a slate-gray sky. Each of them, even Masista, glanced back at the house numerous times, their gazes filled with awe. Myrad couldn’t seem to order his thoughts. The star he’d beheld in his vision had descended on the child. How did one simply resume his life after coming into the presence of the divine?

  “There’s a storm coming,” Walagash said with a look to the sky. “That will help us.” They mounted their horses and left the village of Bethlehem. Soon they were back at the fork in the road.

  “The choice before us seems clear,” Yehudah said. “Either we follow the road apart from Jerusalem or we continue on to Egypt and take to the sea. What is your advice, merchant?”

  Walagash nodded. “The road would have us back in Parthia sooner, but I think you should take the sea. Our return to the empire is sure to attract notice. It would be foolhardy to escape Herod by the intercession of God only to put yourself in Musa’s hands.”

  “Well-reasoned. But right now I want to make sure that if we’re found, it’s not anywhere near here.”

  Walagash reached into his pack and pulled out a map, unfolding it. “Hebron lies less than half a day’s ride from here. From there we can ride west to the sea road, which will take us to Gaza and beyond Herod’s reach.”

  It took them ten days to make the journey from Bethlehem to the port of Aelana on the Red Sea, during which they spent every moment watching for signs of pursuit. When they reached the port serving as a major trading post for the sea routes from Arabia, Walagash approached Myrad, his expression clouded.

  “We must sell the horses,” Walagash said, looking stricken by shame. “No sea captain would be willing to take them for a reasonable price.”

  Myrad put his hand to Areion’s neck. “Then I will pay an unreasonable one. I won’t surrender my friend here without a fight.”

  Walagash’s face softened. “Speak to our captain. Your share of the profits is substantial. Perhaps the right amount will persuade him.”

  They walked the length of the pier, commenting on the tapered lines of the ship at both the bow and the stern. Walagash smiled and nodded, but Myrad knew too little of ships to understand what exactly the merchant was noticing. Gershom and the rest of the magi expressed little interest in the sea or ships.

  “What do you see that has you nodding your approval?” Myrad asked.

  Walagash grunted. “A ship to a captain is like a horse to a warrior. Both show lines and temperaments. I know little enough of the sea, yet it’s plain to see excellent breeding in either case.”

  A man standing nearby, dark-skinned with glossy black hair, overheard the comment and approached them. “You have a good eye for a land merchant. I’m Sareshta. Are you looking for passage?” A blood-red stone shone in his right earlobe.

  “Perhaps,” Walagash said. “If our destinations align. Where are you going?”

  Sareshta waved a hand at the expanse of water stretching south and west away from them. “Wherever the win
d is willing to take us.”

  “I was hoping for something more definite,” Walagash said.

  The captain laughed. “Pardon my poetic turn. We’re currently empty. The Star will be running before the breath of the gods to Egypt, where we’ll pick up grain and then sail around Arabia to my homeland of Indus.”

  “Do you have room for passengers?”

  When he nodded, Myrad stepped forward. “And one horse as well?”

  “I’ve boarded horses before,” the captain replied, “the finest Nisean mounts in the world. The Romans pay well for them; they race the horses in the great circus. I thought to make a handsome profit of it, but I found it’s much cheaper to transport them overland. That way, they can graze most of the journey and move around freely.”

  “How much?” Myrad asked.

  Sareshta glanced at Walagash. “He’s a bit quick to the negotiation. Haven’t you taught him one should sneak up on that conversation?”

  Walagash smiled. “There’s been little time for that. This is my daughter’s betrothed, Myrad. He has a unique gift for negotiation I’ve found most useful.”

  Sareshta’s eyes flashed to Myrad and back again. “I’m intrigued. What would this gift be?”

  “He has a way of finding a man’s greatest desire and fulfilling it.”

  “He sounds more like a djinn than a man. Still, the price for bringing his horse will be commensurate with the accommodations we’ll have to make. We’ll need to wall off a portion of the hold so the horse is kept away from the grain.”

  “Make it so that I can bring him up on deck in calm weather,” Myrad said. “Areion needs sunlight.”

  “This horse is a close friend?”

  “You’re willing then?” Myrad asked.

  “For a price,” Sareshta agreed.

  Myrad reached into his tunic to retrieve the purse holding the last of his father’s inheritance. It was painfully depleted.

  Sareshta pursed his lips. “I doubt there’s enough coin in there to make it worth my while.”

  Myrad opened the drawstring and peeked inside. Only the two stones remained. He took the lesser of the two, a ruby whose hue matched the one in Sareshta’s ear, and brought it forth.

  “For a friend,” Myrad said, “who’s saved my life at the risk of his own.”

  “Done,” Sareshta said with a smile for Walagash. “And your future son-in-law has nearly granted my wish, as you said.”

  “How so?”

  “The jewel in my ear represents my rank. I captain one of the finest ships sailing the coasts of Indus, Arabia, and Egypt. To wear the second jewel, I would have to own another. It took me my entire life to build up to this, but I would need to haul something more profitable than grain to earn the second.”

  Myrad caught Walagash’s eye. “The civil war in Parthia could come to an end at any moment . . . or the fighting could go on for a while yet.”

  Walagash’s eyes danced above his smile. He put a hand on Sareshta’s shoulder. “Tell me, Captain, how quickly can you make the run from Indus to Egypt?”

  “If the winds are favorable, the voyage can be made in six weeks.”

  Walagash’s grin widened as he walked with Sareshta toward his ship. “Captain, allow me to propose a negotiation. You may find yourself with that second jewel sooner than you expect.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Walagash and the captain emerged hours later, wearing smiles of smug satisfaction.

  “What did you agree to, Father?” Roshan asked.

  “Carrying weight back to Indus,” he said.

  Myrad shook his head. “What does that mean?”

  “The captain carries grain from Egypt to Indus, which explains the size of his ship. To be profitable, he must carry a lot of grain. Based on future considerations, the captain agreed to let us travel back with him for carrying weight plus water and meals.”

  Myrad understood the explanation no better the second time around, but Roshan’s eyes widened in surprise. “He’s charging us based on how much we’re costing him based on our weight in grain?”

  When Walagash confirmed this, she scoffed. “That’s hardly worth the time he spent negotiating.”

  Walagash held up a forefinger. “And also future consideration.”

  Suspicion narrowed her gaze. “What consideration?”

  “A chance to carry silks from Indus to Alexandria.” He rubbed his hands together with a rasping sound. “With the profit from this trip, I’ll be able to procure a tenth of the stock in Margiana. If Musa is still impressing the caravans into her army, they’ll practically force their silk upon me.”

  Roshan scuffed the deck of the ship with one foot. “Only the most desperate silk merchants use ships, Father. One shipwreck and you’re ruined.”

  He nodded. “Which is why we should employ Captain Sareshta. This is one of the largest ships plying the coastline. In the twenty years Sareshta has been sailing this route, he’s never lost a cargo.”

  After Walagash left, Myrad took Roshan’s hand, marveling at the feel of it in his own. “What is it that concerns you?”

  She gestured at the ship without meeting his gaze. “I love the trade routes and the caravan, and I’ve heard too many tales of the sea to be comfortable with it.” She turned to face the sea, shaking her head.

  They boarded the ship early the next morning. Myrad settled Areion in his spot in the hold, which Sareshta’s men had fashioned into a kind of stable, complete with oats and extra water. Myrad brushed Areion’s coat until it gleamed while the horse nuzzled and pushed at him with his nose.

  When they cast off, Myrad could hardly tell they were moving. He ascended to the deck to behold Aelana diminishing into the distance behind them. A soft breeze filled the triangular sail, sending the ship southwest toward the middle of the Red Sea.

  They stopped after two days in Egypt, where Sareshta filled his hold with grain from the Nile Valley. Myrad watched in wonder as the ship settled lower in the water by minute increments. Once they pulled away from the dock twelve hours later, the ship’s movements could only be described as ponderous.

  Roshan took to dicing with anyone foolish enough to play the game. This was most everyone, owing to the encroaching boredom while at sea. Myrad found Yehudah by the helmsman’s hut in the bow, peering out across the water.

  “What do we do now?” he asked the magus.

  Yehudah turned and made a wry face. “There’s only a ‘we’ if that is what you want. As for me, I will return to my lands in the eastern satrapy of Bactria and continue to keep the calendar.”

  Masista’s words haunted him. “How will he ever be able to throw off the yoke of Rome?”

  Yehudah shrugged. “Alexander managed to conquer the entire known world in the blink of an eye. That’s a task for God’s anointed. Our job is to count the days.”

  Yehudah’s calm assertion brought Myrad back to the essential question, which had been bothering him for a long time now. “Why does the Most High need us to keep the calendar? They have the prophecies in Israel. What do they need us for?”

  “Because they don’t understand,” Yehudah said. “After we left Herod’s palace, I went to the synagogue and spoke with the scribes and Pharisees.” He shook his head slowly. “They hope for the Messiah to come . . . and yet they’re not expecting Him to.”

  Myrad shuddered. It was as if the words were an axe blow to the roots of his belief. Gershom had been so sure. “How can they not understand? They have the same prophecies you do. Did you show them the calendar?”

  Yehudah flinched like he’d been slapped. “No! And I did everything in my power to keep them from coming to the conclusion there might be one. And I said nothing of our dream.”

  “Surely they’ll hear something of it from Herod,” Myrad said.

  Yehudah conceded the point. “Rumors of us will undoubtedly reach the ears of the Sanhedrin. Even so, nothing will come of it.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  The magus took a dee
p breath and blew it out. “How can I explain? Have you ever spoken to a blind man?”

  “Before Gershom adopted me, my mother and I worked the market near a man named Shahram.” He smiled at the memory. “He could identify his regular customers by the sound of their footsteps.”

  “Exactly,” Yehudah said. “Yet despite his skill, he couldn’t see, and no amount of explanation could make him see.”

  They departed Egypt, running crossways at the shallows to reach the deep channel running through the center of the Red Sea. The coast of Arabia crept along their port side. Walagash gazed out over the rail, smiling, almost trembling with excitement. True to his word, Sareshta’s ship glided along through the waters of the coastline before the wind.

  “Will we always go so slowly?” Myrad asked.

  Walagash turned on him, his eyes wide. “Don’t you have any idea how fast we’re going?”

  “About as fast as a horse can walk.” He waved at the shoreline passing by. “Any horse.”

  The merchant laughed. “Ships don’t stop at night, or ever. We won’t stop until we reach Barbaricon at the mouth of the Indus River.”

  Myrad looked up at the bellied sail with newfound respect. “How far is that from here?”

  Walagash grinned. “About three thousand miles.”

  The math was so simple, most anyone could have done it. “Fifty days? We’re going to cover three thousand miles in fifty days?”

  “Plus or minus a week, yes. And Sareshta assures me the journey can be made this quickly all year round. It’s a thousand miles from Barbaricon to Margiana, which will take another sixty days, but we can put goods at Margiana into Roman hands in the Egyptian city of Myos Hormos in less than three months.”

  “I don’t understand the advantage over using camels to take your silks to Palmyra.”

  Walagash leaned forward, his eyes alight. “The farther we penetrate into the Roman Empire, the greater our gain. Our goods exchange hands any number of times. Every set of hands we eliminate increases our profit. In a few years I may be able to buy out Esai’s portion of the trade.”