The Hidden Flame (15 page)

"I will not even speak of it," she said, her voice as firm as she could make it.

She felt Jacob stiffen, but he did not withdraw his supporting hand under her arm. "I think you would do well to at least consider it, Abigail," he was saying now. "You don't want to find yourself in the home of that pompous merchant, no matter how much money he has under his tunic."

Abigail flinched at Jacob's second reference to the possibility of her marrying for the merchant's money. Ezra, wasn't it? She had been told more about the one who sent his sister to plead his case. No, she certainly did not want to find herself in his home, even if his children did need a mother.

Subconsciously her limp now became more pronounced. Surely neither of the men would desire a woman who was crippled. Perhaps, just perhaps, her recent tumble would be her deliverance. God sometimes worked in mysterious ways, didn't their prophets say?

She spoke again to her brother, her voice now calm, placating. "We will discuss this with Alban when he arrives. He will have the solution, don't you think?"

Jacob only nodded, but by his expression Abigail knew his thoughts were elsewhere. Would he still insist that Alban help him to become a legionnaire? Abigail remained hopeful Jacob had given up his burning desire. Had accepted reason and the counsel of their elders.

Making up her mind quite suddenly, Abigail said, "I think I will rest here while you go on. My leg is not as strong as I thought."

Jacob led her to a low wall and brushed away the debris. "Are you sure? I could take you home."

"No, the rest will do me good. I can pray here. I'll return when I am able." She motioned him on with the others, and Jacob turned away.

Up ahead she could see Peter with several of the apostles along with a crowd pressed in around them. Abigail could almost hear his words as he talked with them. He would be telling about the Messiah's coming to earth. He would quote, as he often did, from the ancient prophesies and explain how each one had been fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth, whom the Jews had crucified. He would invite them to join with the followers for further discussion and instruction. And all the time his deep voice would be challenging, drawing, lovingly leading them toward the kingdom of God.

Those were the very things she herself should be concerned with, but there she sat, her injury her excuse for not joining the group at the Temple. She was worried about being forced into an undesirable marriage. One of her suitors was certainly unwanted. And the other was unthinkable. Could her injury possibly save her from such a fate? She knew her culture well. An unmarried woman had little position or power. But she would gladly forfeit any future as wife and mother and be content as she was.

Please, God, just let me serve, she prayed silently as she sat, hardly aware of the crowd that streamed by, but her words brought no feeling of peace. No sense that he was listening. She couldn't have explained which pained her more-a troubled heart or an injured leg. But even as she struggled, a quiet voice inside whispered that here was a new opportunity for her to trust her Savior.

Again she prayed. Not merely for wisdom, but for submission. Would she ever be ready-and willing-to let God work out the details of her future? Even if it was with ... But she shook her head and pushed herself to her feet. She would not let herself even think about it. Help me trust you, Lord, she prayed, her lips moving silently as she limped back home.

C H A P T E R

THIRTEEN

GAMALIEL WAS WAVING HIS ARMS over his head. "Those people are impossible!"

Ezra, seated in a carved chair set within the chamber's shadows, felt the wind against his face. He watched the breeze push the curtains back and forth, casting occasional blades of sunlight across his sandaled feet. The heat was enough for him to shift his chair back from the sun. "You are speaking of the dead prophet's followers, yes?"

"The Sanhedrin released them on the condition they not speak the name of this dead prophet in public. And what do they do? They turn the Temple forecourt into a teaching platform for their heretical ideas! They were back there this morning, proclaiming that this Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah! The Messiah!"

Gamaliel was normally a placid man who showed the world a gentle smile. Now, however, he stormed about the chamber, arms in the air. One of his students hovered in the background, a slender man with a thin, dark beard. Gamaliel was a popular teacher, with a way of encouraging his students to excel beyond their own expectations. Today, however, the student looked rather frightened.

Gamaliel pointed at the young man and ordered, "Tell him what you saw, Titus."

"It is as the teacher says," he began hurriedly. "I was going to the Council on an errand, and there they were. They had taken over Solomon's Porch."

Ezra grimaced. King Solomon had erected a structure in the Temple forecourt from which he could say his prayers, situated as close as anyone who was not a priest could come to the Holy of Holies. But Solomon's Temple had been totally destroyed by the Babylonians, and the returning exiles built a replacement that was rather modest in comparison to the original. Herod the Great commissioned an expansion and restoration project which included a new Solomon's Porch, located on the east side of the Temple. The cedar roof was supported by a high, three-aisled colonnade. This shaded area was perhaps ten paces wide and four times as long. Teaching at the Temple was only on a strict order of hierarchy. Solomon's Porch was limited to pronouncements by the Sanhedrin or one of their appointed scribes.

Ezra asked, "By whose authority did they address the crowd from the Porch?"

"They claim not to need earthly authority," Gamaliel replied grimly. "Why should they, when they declare the dead prophet is Israel's long-awaited Redeemer?"

At a sign from Gamaliel, the student went on, "The one called Peter was preaching. The crowd was enormous. Peter told of the beggar's healing. He claimed that such power was at work within all believers. That all could be healed and made to rise up and stand before the Lord their God."

"If it was the beggar at all," Gamaliel muttered. "If he was indeed healed."

"It was the beggar, and he was healed."

Gamaliel spun about to face Ezra. "How can you be so certain?"

"It was the same man we have passed by since our youth," Ezra said. "And I know he was healed because ... I watched him dance."

Gamaliel tugged hard on his beard, his fingers clenched tight, his hand pulling his face down into a deep scowl. "You saw this?"

"A few nights ago."

"Why did you not inform me?"

"Because I am not ready to make my full report." Which was only partly the truth. "I am to meet with one of their senior leaders tomorrow. After the meal that ends the Sabbath. An apostle, he is called."

Gamaliel continued to tug upon his beard. "Do you know how many they have added to their ranks since we last spoke? Thousands. They are spreading faster than we can count. How do we know this? Because they carry on the same absurd practice as that other dead prophet, the one they called the Baptizer."

Ezra shifted in his chair. This was new.

"Our spies have seen them gather at the Pool of Siloam before morning prayers. There are hundreds of them standing and waiting to be immersed. We hear the same thing is happening at the river Jordan. And more still along the Sea of Galilee. Every morning it is like this."

The student, Titus, added, "They enter the Temple still dripping from their immersion."

"Sacrilege!" Gamaliel muttered.

Ezra decided nothing was to be gained by pointing out that the Pharisees liked to enter the Temple with their beards still dripping wet from the ritual baths, an outward show of their piety. Such public demonstrations, and the way many of them looked down on those whom they considered not to be pious enough, was one reason why Ezra was glad he had never become a priest.

"I had heard they share everything," Ezra said. "I went expecting to find that many joined only for the free food."

"And?"

"It was nothing of the sort. They share with each other and with all who come to them. But there was no sign of people gathering merely because such things were on offer. You understand what I mean, yes?"

"I understand."

"They were preparing the evening meal when I arrived, so this would have been the perfect moment to see the hordes descend for a handout. It was not so. They moved together as one. It reminded me.. ."

"Yes, go on."

"I mean no offense by this. But I was reminded of our time as students. The way we were enveloped by our teacher's household. Surely you remember how we were all considered part of his family."

Gamaliel said nothing.

"The calm was ... Well, it sounds strange, but a genuine force. The sharing was real. This is fact. You and I may not like it. But I tell you this is so."

Gamaliel was quiet for a long time. "I must admit I believe you," he finally said. "There are others I have spoken with. They all describe it similarly as you have. As a living force."

"When the beggar arrived and began to dance, there was excitement, yes," Ezra recalled. "But there was also the calm of people who had witnessed many such wonders. Those with whom I spoke did not claim these powers for themselves. There was none ... Forgive me, old friend, I do not mean to offend. But you know how I view some of the Sanhedrin, their manner of putting their religiousness on public display. As the beggar danced, one of the followers invited me to join their community. He claimed that the Holy One's own Spirit would be breathed into my heart as well, and his power would reside within me."

"This is why I asked you to go and observe," Gamaliel said. "You speak the truth, even when it is precisely what I did not want to hear."

"Whether it is the truth or not, I cannot say. But it is what I saw, and what I felt."

Titus cautioned, "Master, the hour."

Gamaliel glanced at the evening shadows, and Ezra also looked out the window. The trumpet announcing the Sabbath's commencement would soon sound. Gamaliel asked, "You meet with their leader when, precisely?"

"After sunset tomorrow." Ezra felt his entire body resonate with the prospect. His sister Sapphira had received formal confirmation that Abigail was both unwed and not yet betrothed, which was a clan's way of saying that he might make a formal request. Which he intended to do at this meeting. But such news could not be shared with Gamaliel. Not when the priest was in a position to issue an injunction.

The young woman's face and form shimmered before Ezra's eyes once more. The only way he could suppress his anticipation was to clench his jaw.

But Gamaliel obviously was far too concerned to notice. "I have a very bad feeling about all this. You must inform me of everything you learn, do you hear? And without delay."

How was he supposed to explain this twist and turn of fate, Linux wondered, even to himself? He was walking a rutted lane leading to the valley beyond the Jerusalem boundary, led by a silent Judean. Linux wore a commoner's garment. His only weapon was the traditional knife at his belt. His sandals were of untreated leather. His hair was oiled and tied at the nape of his neck in a simple leather thong. His brother would find his appearance mildly amusing. Linux, the man who lusted after the family's power and wealth, walking through the night like a peasant.

The one who guided him carried a torch, as a servant might. But there was no air of servitude about him. He walked with a shepherd's ease, moving lightly over the uneven terrain. The road they followed seemed more a trail, rocky and twisted. Twilight cast the route in shadows. The sky glowed a soft rose over to the west, while overhead the first stars appeared. The trail turned steep once they entered the valley below the Mount of Olives. On the next hill, the coliseum, a massive monument to Roman power, caught the sun's final ray. As though the empire mocked him and his motives for his journey this night.

The man spoke for the first time since meeting Linux outside the Temple gate a few minutes before sunset. "That is our destination up ahead."