The Hidden Flame (13 page)

C H A P T E R

TEN

THE DUTIES OF THE MORNING called for Linux to make a trip to a silversmith's shop. Some infraction had been reported to the garrison, and he was assigned to investigate. He'd been offered an armed escort but shrugged it aside. He knew the shopkeepermany soldiers bought trinkets for their women from him, though Linux had never had occasion to do so. There was no reason to think the matter could not be worked through by simply listening to the merchant's case.

As he walked his thoughts were on Abigail. How was he, a Roman, to make an approach, beginning with this strange sect to which she had attached herself? He knew little of these people and their ways. No doubt Alban could help him with that. If the man would be willing to act on his behalf when he made his visit to the area ... Considering their past friendship, he was sure Alban would find a way to contact him when he arrived, and they would discuss the matter.

As Linux turned onto the main market thoroughfare, he paused by a shop whose interior was being rebuilt. Workers crammed the tight space, raising as much dust as noise. Linux's thoughts were on Abigail. If only ... He thumped the new wooden post by which he stood. He must find a way to make Abigail his.

Linux felt eyes upon him. It took him a long moment to recognize the tousle-haired young man grinning at him. "Jacob!"

"Greetings, sire!"

"You've grown so I doubt your own mother would recognize you. What are you doing here?"

"Working-"

"You're doing no such thing, unless your job is to prop up that wall."

Jacob displayed calloused hands. "I'm learning carpentry."

Linux detected a resigned tone. "This is not something you chose? You wish for a different craft?"

"I ..." Jacob must have caught sight of someone behind Linux.

He turned to find a bearded Judean with mallets for fists and a square face glowering at the lad. Linux assumed an officer's demeanor. "Good day to you, Master Carpenter."

The man nodded abruptly. "Roman."

"I have need of this young man for a time."

"Let us hope you can gain more work from him than I've been able to." The man turned back to his work.

"Come." Linux led the boy up the heat-drenched street. Jacob was a head taller than the last time they had met. In the full sunlight Linux noticed how his shoulders had filled out. His dark hair was flecked with sawdust and his face was ruddy from working in the sun. When Linux was sure they were out of earshot, he said, "You do not wish to be a carpenter?"

"You are correct. I hate it."

"What do you wish for yourself?"

Jacob paused, then said, "I want to be a legionnaire, sire."

Beneath the lad's matter-of-fact tone Linux detected a very real longing. "I recall you saying the same thing to Alban when we first came to Jerusalem."

"Nothing has changed." Jacob kicked at a rock in the road. "That is, nothing has changed for me."

"Ah. I think I understand." Linux walked alongside the boy up the rutted road to where it joined the street of shops. "Alban does not wish for you to become a Roman soldier?"

"How can I know, since I have not seen him in two years? But Abigail is against it. She and our leaders."

Linux's heart leapt at her name, but he kept his voice steady. "Does she say why?"

He kicked at another stone. " `Ours is a way of peace.' That's all I hear when I talk of my dreams."

"Do you understand what they mean by that?"

"I don't want to."

Linux moved a hand over his mouth to cover a smile. But Jacob was sharp enough to catch his response, and it made him angry. "Alban was a centurion, and it didn't stop him from becoming a follower of the Way."

"I was not laughing at you, Jacob. I was thinking how very similar we are, you and I. And Alban too, for that matter. We were all forced into trades and lives that were not of our choosing."

"You did not want to be a soldier?"

"To be honest, Jacob, I was never given much of a chance to ponder the question. My elder brother- Well, let's just say that if I stayed at home, my life would have ended long before I was ready. Besides which, every second-born brother and beyond in my clan has served in the legions. It has been the tradition for generations. I had this drummed into me since I was far younger than you are."

Jacob said idly, "I wish I had been ordered into such a fate." His attention was on a cloth-walled tavern in which skewers of lamb were grilling on open coals.

"How are they feeding you, my boy?"

"I'm always hungry."

"So was I at your age." Linux steered Jacob into the shade and said to the tavern keeper, "Two portions of your finest."

When the serving dish was placed before them, Linux spoke again. "You sit and enjoy the feast. I have a simple matter to attend just down the street. Wait here when you are done."

The boy nodded, a morsel of lamb already up to his mouth.

When Linux resolved the matter with the silversmith, paying a delinquent soldier's bill himself, he returned to find Jacob had devoured both portions. "Another?"

He could see the lad was tempted. But Jacob finally shook his head. "I wish I could, sire. But I couldn't hold another bite. Not right now." They both smiled.

Linux pushed the platter to one side. "And now to business. I want to speak with you man to man."

"S ire?"

"You heard correctly. I am in need of your service. It is our tradition to find a trusted ally when.. . pursuing a matter of some delicacy."

Jacob stared at him for a while, eyes narrowed. "You are speaking of Abigail?"

"Yes-"

"But she is ..."

"She is what?"

"There is another suitor, sire." Jacob's words now tumbled over each other.

The news struck Linux like a blow to the heart. "This is not good. A Judean, no doubt."

"Yes, sire. He is very ... rich. Abigail ... is waiting ... to see what Alban will say. Yes, you see, Alban and Leah are considered our guardians," Jacob said, finishing in a rush, looking around furtively.

Linux leaned closer. "Don't worry-Abigail herself told me that Alban would be coming soon. Would you speak to him about this? Ask him if-"

"It would be my honor!" Jacob's perspective on the whole matter seemed to have suddenly altered.

"Wait, lad." Linux had known so few reasons to smile recently, his face felt stretched into uncomfortable lines. "First you're supposed to ask what I will give you in return."

"I need nothing, sire. I would do this with ... with joy!"

Linux felt his throat constrict. He wondered if he had ever been so young, so trusting. "Well then." He coughed and said, "Here is what I will do for you. Speak to Alban, and to the ... to your leaders if you feel it is proper. In return, I will attempt to find a place for you within the garrison."

The light that burned in Jacob's face was so intense it was hard to meet the boy's gaze. Jacob whispered, "Oh, sire ..."

Linux rose to his feet, found it necessary to cough a second time. "Come. Let us get you back to work. It likely will be for a short time only."

C H A P T E R

ELEVEN

EZRA KNEW SAPPHIRA DID NOT WANT TO RETURN. She had already presented his case to the elders of this new group. They had not responded. His sister feared that for her to now bring her brother to them without a formal invitation would be disrespectful, an affront. Ezra, however, did not care and felt he had waited long enough.

Ezra also knew Sapphira's husband had placed the first tract of land up for sale. Ezra had been very angry to learn of this. Land within the Jerusalem walls was priceless, a family heritage to be treasured, not bartered. But at least Sapphira was in no position to object further when he insisted she return with him to the compound.

His businessman's experience told him he was making a mistake. To take up his pursuit again with them, and uninvited, was to reveal his impatience, the depth of his desire for this woman. And if the years in his chosen profession had taught him anything, it was that an impatient trader was one who could be forced to pay far too much. Though he knew this, he pushed it aside.

He did not consider himself a rash man. His every step through life had been measured, considering every decision in light of the future. But not now-not with this ... this orphan, this serving girl, this washerwoman. Even listing such evident flaws had no effect on him. This fact alarmed him, but this too was not enough to deter him from his quest.

He conducted his business while another part of his mind remained trapped by the fleeting glimpse of an impossibly lovely woman. His dreams were repeatedly broken by a whisper of hunger he had not known since his wife's death.

He wanted this woman, this Abigail, for his own.

As soon as they entered the compound in the city's old quarter, the place where the dead prophet had supposedly first reappeared to his so-called apostles, Ezra knew something was amiss. Several groups, heads circled together, were murmuring about something, expressions strained.

The two took places at the courtyard table, yet no one seemed to even notice them. Ezra said to his sister, "Perhaps you should find out what is happening."

She returned soon enough. She pointed to the group clustered in the shadows by the kitchen alcove. "Word has come that several of the apostles were arrested and taken before the Sanhedrin-"

"What of Abigail?"

"She has gone to visit her brother. Jacob is apprenticed to a carpenter."

He tried to hide behind a merchant's mask. But he could feel the bile twisting his features. "When will she return?"

"No one will say. I doubt they even heard me." Ezra could see that the news of the arrests troubled his sister along with the followers enormously. "Did you hear why they were arrested?"

"Something to do with a healing." It looked like Sapphira's attention was torn between her brother and the distress that swirled about them. "Another miracle."

Ezra bitterly disliked hearing his sister state such drivel so calmly. But Sapphira seemed too preoccupied to notice his grimace. "Perhaps you should mention that I have connections with the Sanhedrin, sister." When Sapphira did not respond, Ezra reached across the table and tapped her elbow. She turned, and he continued, "If they would only respond to my most reasonable request for the hand-"

A shout drew them both around. A group of men was entering through the main portal. At their center a burly man, dressed in a commoner's robes, held himself like a prince. The courtyard's sunlight shone upon him, and this man exuded such a force that for the first time since coming face to face with Abigail, Ezra's attention was fully directed elsewhere.

Sapphira murmured, "That is Peter."

The hand stroking his beard was massive, twice the size of Ezra's. Yet the man contained a gentle demeanor, along with an aura that unsettled Ezra in a way he could not explain. "Go and see what is happening," he instructed. With her penchant for the latest news, Sapphira gladly joined the others.

The courtyard was filling rapidly, excitement clear in the voices. Another man, a spindly character Ezra found vaguely familiar, was skipping about the courtyard, arms waving in excitement. They all watched him with amazement.

Then Ezra realized where he had seen the man before. The recognition drew him up so swiftly that he overturned the bench upon which he had been seated.

Ezra said to no one in particular, "That man dancing. He's the cripple who begs at the Beautiful Gate."

Though the courtyard was full enough that people were pressed in around him, space was made for the dancing man. Ezra righted his bench and stood upon it. Yes. It had to be the same man. Ezra recalled seeing him years ago, when he was still a student. Ezra could recall the man being carried into the area and deposited in his place, probably by clansmen who claimed a few of his coins for their trouble. People were saying the man had been deformed from birth.

The man's chant suddenly rang in Ezra's ears. As to be expected, the man was again asking for alms but using a very special word.

A young man standing beside Ezra said to his neighbor, "Zadaka."

That was it. The word literally meant a righteous gift. It had been the favorite term of Ezra's teacher, an invitation for the listener to do a certain thing, not to help the one asking, but rather to help himself. A zadaka was, in its purest form, an opportunity to bless the doer through a godly act.

Ezra stepped off his bench and demanded, "Were you there?"

"I was," the young man answered.

"Could you tell me what happened?"

Another on the man's opposite side said, "I was just asking the same thing."

"And I will tell you both." His face looked like it possessed the same internal illumination as the man his sister had called Peter. "We were going to the Temple yesterday for the afternoon prayers, as usual."

This in itself immediately told Ezra a great deal about the group. Most observant Judeans were content to pray the morning and the evening services. The teachers often said that the afternoon prayers carried a greater sense of divine connection, because they were the hardest to observe. People could more easily find time to address the Holy One at the beginning and the end of each day, but to stop in the middle of activities and pray, this signified a special calling. Ezra himself rarely took time to pray the afternoon service. He took a merchant's view, telling himself he would pray twice as long at sunset, when he had set down his work for the day. But these men went often enough for afternoon prayers to call it usual.