The mid-wife roughly cut the cord, tied it and wrapped the child with a filthy, stained blanket laying near. “Here,” she said, placing the baby on his mother’s stomach. “Your breasts are swollen with milk. Let him suckle while I finish with you.” In the lamp light Johanna could see glistening blood trickle from between the girl’s legs.
Mira let the child nurse but still refused to look at him. “How long must I wait before working again?” she asked, staring at a wall.
The blood flow had slowed, but the mid-wife shook her head, believing more would come. She glanced at the young girl. “At least two weeks, possibly more because of the problems you had with the birthing.” She washed her hands in a bowl of dirty water and wiped them dry with a nearby rag.
A look of disgust swept Mira’s face. She handed the baby back to Johanna.
“Do you know who the father is?” the mid-wife asked in a low voice, letting her gaze drift from the sleeping baby to the young girl.
A sarcastic laugh came. “Of course, he’s one of several hundred Roman soldiers.” Mira paused, then turned her face away. “I’ve paid you. Now take the whelp and leave.”
Johanna rose to her feet, wrapped the child in a stained blanket and eased him within her thick cloak. She glanced at Mira and left the room. Mira refused to look at her and kept her gaze on the dirt floor.
***
Josef stood before Miriam’s blanket, watching his wife lovingly rock the sleeping newborn in her arms. She’d wrapped the child in clean swaddling clothes and only his angelic face was visible. Miriam raised her gaze to Josef, faintly smiled and closed her eyes to rest, exhausted from the night’s ordeal. There was a sense of tranquility within the room. Even the animals acted differently, remaining still and silent as they looked at the infant. Easing the baby from Miriam’s arms, Josef gently laid the child in the manger and set blankets about him for warmth. Leah stood nearby to help if needed.
“So, you are the Immanuel... the fulfillment of the prophecies,” Josef said, brushing his fingertips over the outline of the baby’s arm. Tears rimmed Josef’s eyes from the overpowering joy that warmed his soul.
Walking to the door for a breath of fresh air, Leah saw a growing crowd outside. She glanced back at Josef in confusion. “They wish to see the child, but how did they know?”
Josef motioned her to let the people in. A faint smile formed on his lips as he stroked his beard. “They’ve been waiting. I believe angels summoned them.”
***
Johanna clutched the baby to her chest and felt it lightly squirm beneath her wool cloak. The moon still shone bright and formed a perfect white orb in the sky. The odd star remained glimmering in the distant night with the same brilliance as when she had first seen it. It disturbed her. She began to have doubts over what she was about to do with the child.
The moonlight lit the path she walked along the dirt road, yet also allowed her to see the pack of desert wolves that followed. They smell fresh blood on the child, she thought, wishing she had better cleaned the infant before leaving the brothel.
Having walked a mile from Caesarea Maritima, she turned onto a path leading toward the desolate region where other infants of sinners had been abandoned. The wolves howled as they tracked her for their next meal. They were drawing closer, ringing her, and their calls into the night to one another grew more frequent and louder. She nervously glanced about the land, increased her pace but abruptly stopped at the sight of the dark-cloaked figure ten steps ahead.
A growling wolf appeared to her left, teeth bared, edging closer with head hung low. When the animal was within range of attacking, the cloaked man raised his bony right hand and pointed a long, almost skeletal finger at the animal. The black-furred wolf yelped as if violently struck by a sword then spun with tail tucked between its legs and raced away. Hearing their leader’s cry of agony, the pack chased after him into the desert.
“Show me the child,” the man ordered in a voice as hard as a smith’s anvil. He stepped forward.
The mid-wife edged the front of her cloak open and moved so the stranger would have to turn into the moonlight. A cruel smile appeared on his leathery, wrinkled face when he looked at her, knowing she wanted to see him. He cast his hood back and Johanna’s eyes widened at the sight of his bald head. Foul breath flowed from him as he leaned to the infant. He smiled in satisfaction, his teeth stained and rotted along the gum line. Yet it was the dark, yellowish tint of his eyes that startled her most, making her back a step from him. He moved forward and extended a bony hand. With one of the flesh covered, skeletal fingers he eased Johanna’s cloak further aside to study the infant. It was then she observed how long, sharp, and darkly blemished his nails were.
Dragging a fingernail along the child’s left forearm he sliced the skin, drawing blood. The baby cried out but drew silent when the unknown man raised a finger. The bleeding stopped, and the child’s wound closed, leaving only a scar.
Pulling the cowl of his cloak back onto his head, the man stared at Johanna.
“Tell me, old woman, have you given him a name?”
Without hesitation or knowing why, the mid-wife blurted, “Hanan.”
The man shrugged. “It’s really of no consequence. I shall find him when the time comes.”
“When the time comes?” Johanna’s eyebrows drew together as her eyes narrowed.
Ignoring her question, the man glanced at the distant gleaming star and sneered. He turned to face Johanna. “The child is not to die. Take him to raise as your own. Nurse him on goat’s milk.”
“Why not his mother’s milk? I could—.”
“The whore is dying as we speak—bleeding to death,” the man bluntly stated. Without a further word he turned to leave.
Johanna was speechless then her senses returned. “Tell me your name?”
He paused and looked back at her.
“Abaddon,” he said, renewing his walk.
Staring at his cloaked back, Johanna whispered, “The angel that rules the abyss?”
He nodded but never slowed his pace as he walked away.
A shiver raced through the mid-wife. Whether from the cold desert air or the evil permeating from the man, she tugged her cloak closed and watched Abaddon leave. Within ten steps he melted into the night. Backing cautiously, she glanced about her then started toward the city.
Chapter Two
It had been a long night of shepherds and townspeople streaming through Yigael and Leah’s home. They wanted a glimpse of the infant or to kneel and pray before him, while others sought only to touch his blanket. Leah had halted the endless procession of worshipers for the family to sleep, but dawn’s faint light was already tinting the interior of the rooms, growing brighter by the minute. A neighbor’s rooster crowed. The clamor of the awakening city and incessant chatter of the crowds in the street carried through her open, second-floor window. All attempts to rest were useless.
Donkeys brayed while goats and sheep bleated in defiance of their herdsmen’s boisterous urgings as the animals passed by the home. Yet it was the deep grunting, rumbling growls outside the front door that forced Leah wearily from her bed. Confused, she listened to the growls as she dressed. Such sounds didn’t match the common morning commotions.
Once Yigael properly belted his tunic, he slipped his robe and sandals on to follow his wife down the narrow stone stairs to the first floor. Leah glanced at Josef who sat asleep beside his wife, leaning against the wall with chin lowered to his chest. A light snore passed his lips. Miriam finished nursing the infant and adjusted her robe when Leah approached.
“Did you get any rest?” Leah took the baby from Miriam and gently rocked the infant before laying him in the manger. The child squirmed slightly then fell asleep once warmed by the blankets placed about him.
Miriam shook her head and yawned. She touched her husband’s arm to awaken him. Stirring groggily, he glance
d about the room, rubbed his face with both hands and stiffly rose from the floor. His thick eyebrows lowered as he looked about trying to comprehend the strange noises. Again, deep grunting, rumbling growls came from outside the front door.
“Yigael, see what that racket is.” Leah knelt to help Miriam move into a more comfortable position upon her blanket. Before her husband could walk to the door, a light knocking came upon its wood. “If it’s more worshippers, tell them to wait until we break our fast,” she said in an irritated tone.
Running a hand over his graying hair and beard, Yigael paused at the door, yawned deeply then partially opened it. About to speak, he froze at the sight of a short, well-dressed man, his head wrapped in white cloth that matched his flowing robes. Looking over the man’s shoulder, Yigael’s gaze swept the sunlit gathering of people. But it was the twenty feet of clear pathway behind the short man that captured Yigael’s attention.
At the end of the path knelt three camels, one emitting a deep grunting, rumbling growl. Their jeweled harnesses and expensive saddlery announced that their riders were of great wealth and station. Servants held the animals’ reins while three bronze-faced men, attired in the finest silk robes and headdresses of assorted bright colors, stood beside the camels retrieving articles from their saddle packs.
Leah called out to Yigael, but he was too awestruck by the distinguished visitors to do little more than stand and stare. Opening the door further, Leah was about to speak again then drew silent at the sight of the camels and unknown men.
“Peace be upon you. My masters have traveled far to pay respect to an extraordinary child born under the sign of the magnificent star. Is this the residence? Is He here?” the short man asked, eyebrows rising as his black eyes flared in anticipation. He looked past the stunned man and woman into the house. Seeing the newborn in the manger, the little man excitedly spun and nodded to his masters.
Shocked by the approach of three tall men dressed in royal attire and long, pointed cloth boots, Leah bowed her head as she opened the door wide for them to enter. Yigael stepped aside and bowed his head, but Josef defiantly stood before his wife and the baby, ready to protect them.
The first man, gaunt faced and stern eyed, was the tallest of the three. His ocean blue robe shimmered in the morning sun and the precious gems of his peaked cap sparkled as he walked. Behind him came a hawk-nosed, thickly bearded man in a purple flowing robe with an equally jeweled headdress to match his robe. The last man, a slender, clean shaven magus, strode toward the home with head held high, gaze fixed on the interior ahead. His crimson robes and peaked cap displayed a dancing sheen of sunlight as he walked, and behind him, the camels released more grunts and rumbling growls.
Silence fell across the gathered crowd as they watched the royal visitors enter Yigael’s home carrying small chests.
“Peace be upon you and all in this house. I am Belsharusur, and this is Gadaspar and Melchior,” the gaunt-faced man said to Josef as he halted before him. “We have come from Persia to honor the newborn King of the Jews. May we present our gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh to him and kneel in homage at his feet?”
Josef nervously brushed his moustache and beard with the fingers of his right hand then nodded and moved aside. When the stately visitors saw the sleeping infant in the manger, their faces displayed the wonderment rising from within themselves. Stepping forward, each man knelt at the manger and raised their small wooden chests to their foreheads. Closing their eyes, they lightly spoke in their native tongue and gently set the chests next to the manger. They remained upon their knees in silence, gazing at the infant for thirty minutes before rising and stepping back.
The hawk-nosed Melchior adjusted his purple robe about him and studied Josef a moment before speaking.
“Has the Anointed One received a name so all may know him across the lands?”
“In eight days he will be circumcised under my people’s covenant with Elohim. Then he will be known by his Hebrew name—Yeshua.”
Turning and whispering among themselves, the three men nodded.
Josef’s gaze drifted across their faces. “Is something wrong?”
Gadaspar lightly smiled. “No. We were only discussing the name. The Gentiles will translate his name to Greek since it is a language spoken across nations.”
“And what name will that be?” Miriam asked from her blanket.
“Jesus,” Belsharusur replied.
***
The room was dark except for the small oil lamp Miriam kept lit near the baby’s manger to be able to check on him through the night. Josef tossed about on his blanket in a fretful sleep, mumbling unintelligibly until his fear laden dream forced him awake. He bolted upright and apprehensively glanced about the quiet room believing danger to be within arm’s reach. A clammy sweat stuck his sleep shirt to his chest. Running a hand over his face, he wiped sweat away and tried to slow his heavy breathing.
“What’s wrong?” Miriam asked in a whispering voice beside him.
“A man in gleaming battle armor came and stood by my feet... His sword was like none I’ve ever seen.”
Miriam looked about the room but saw no one. She shook her head lightly. “We are alone, Josef. No one is here.”
Turning to his wife, Josef’s eyes grew wide. “After our son is circumcised at the temple and your purification has been performed, we must leave for Egypt.”
“Egypt?”
Josef nodded. “Elohim’s messenger said we must take the child there in secret and remain until I am told the danger has passed.”
“Danger? What danger?”
Gazing at the front door, expecting soldiers to burst through any moment, Josef turned to his wife and gravely nodded.
“Death is coming for Yeshua.”
***
5 B.C.
Jerusalem, District of Judea
Herod shuffled about the sunlit throne room, sipping wine from a gem-encrusted goblet. He scowled and restlessly tugged at his regal robes as if they were slipping from his shoulders even though they were not. It had become one of many strange habits he had acquired in the past months. His downcast, somber gaze gave the impression he was studying the designs of the mosaic tiles crafted into the marble floor. The scribes, astrologers, counselors and the king’s personal physician standing to one side of the massive room knew different. This was merely the calm before a volcanic eruption. The diseases settling within Herod were steadily destroying him. With each passing month his once obese frame was shrinking to little more than sagging flesh over bone. His dark eyes and cheeks were sunken, and his hands had begun to tremble. Each footstep came slow and measured as if he were unsure of himself, and though he had a reputation for murderous rages, now they arose more frequently, infused with unbridled savagery.
“Do those three believe me to be a fool? Bethlehem is only six miles away. A beggar could crawl there and back since they’ve been gone. But no, not one returned as I instructed. I tell you they have fled to Babylon!” Herod’s voice was low and seethed with anger. He threw the wine goblet through the air, but his strength and balance were weak. The golden chalice fell less than ten feet away, spilling wine across the floor as it struck the marble with a sharp clank, bounced and rolled to a halt.
Three burly soldiers and a frail appearing physician rushed forward to carry the wavering king to his gilded throne on the wide dais. The young scribes lowered their faces to gaze at the floor, yet the aged astrologers cast guarded glances at one another while Herod was being seated. The star gazers agreed that the unknown diseases were devouring his mind and body.
“Get away from me—get away,” Herod shouted, swinging his arms free of the soldiers. Easing back into his throne, the king ordered the physician to leave. He pointed the trembling forefinger of his right hand at the curly-haired, strong framed Greek of forty years who stood quietly at the edge of the dais.
&nbs
p; Lucius, his court advisor, walked to him and bowed. “Yes, my lord?”
“Bethlehem is hiding this newborn from me. They’ve become treasonous if they believe the child is their new king. I want the city destroyed,” Herod said in a growling tone. His dark eyes within their sunken hollows rose from gazing at the floor to stare at his advisor. Madness painted them.
“My lord, allow me to send spies to find the child and have him brought to you. Eliminating the entire city means eliminating the taxes you receive from it.” Lucius always had a way of tempering Herod’s blood thirsty side to bring about some sanity, but this was not to be one of those moments.
Herod nodded. “You’re right... Well, send soldiers to Bethlehem. Kill every male child under the age of two. Let their blood flow like a river so the people will know there will be no other king but me.”
The Greek stood stunned. There would be no changing the king’s mind. The fury now in Herod’s eyes had been present when he ordered his beloved second wife, Mariamme the Hasmonean, and later several of their sons, to be killed because he believed they were plotting against him.
“As you have ordered, my lord.” Lucius gazed at the slump-shouldered king sitting upon the throne. Bowing, he left to find the commander of Herod’s army and assemble the required butchers.
***
Caesarea Maritima, District of Samaria
For the past ten days Johanna had done little more than remain home to watch over her new ward and think about Abaddon’s strange words and actions—especially scarring the baby as he had on the left arm. Everything about the man had reeked of evil. Even recalling his yellowish eyes still sent a shiver up her spine. And what of the odd star with its brilliant light? Within a day after Hanan’s birth it had vanished from the sky, leaving her troubled that the star might have been some portend of ill omen. But at sixty-two years old she realized there was little hope of living long enough to see what his destiny held.
Standing in the doorway of her small home, she watched the passersby and waved to several she recognized that lived in the immediate area. Everyone knew of her work as a mid-wife, but none suspected her association with the sinners and disposals of their unwanted. A twinge of guilt swept through her but the thought of the minor fortune she had amassed over the years from the brothels eased her conscience.
The Daggerman Page 2