The Hidden Flame (16 page)

Linux responded formally, "I am grateful that you would take such trouble on my account."

"I saw you once before. When you arrived at the wedding celebration of Alban and Leah and gave them your horse when they had to depart suddenly." He brought them up the last steep incline toward a walled enclosure.

"Have you heard exactly when Alban will be arriving in Jerusalem?"

The man hammered on the stout oak door with his free hand. "You might be out of uniform, Roman. And you might be here at Peter's invitation. But Alban is a friend, and I know not your motives. I tell you nothing."

Linux nodded, accepting both the man's words and his own position as seeming interloper. The door was opened by a stout gentleman in the robes of a wealthy Judean. He gave Linux's tall form a single glance and said, "You bring a Roman?"

"At Peter's request."

"He said nothing of this to me."

"Ask him for assurance if you wish."

The man stepped back and motioned the two inside. "If you are certain-"

Linux did not move forward. "I do not wish to enter any home where I am not welcome."

"Then you are truly peculiar, for a Roman," his guide said.

The stout Judean pushed the door open wider. "If Peter wishes it to be, then so it shall be. Welcome, Roman."

"My name is Linux, and I am grateful for your hospitality."

Abigail winced as she set the heavy jar of water on the wooden table. She wondered how much longer she would be able to stay on her feet. Her leg was not healing as she had hoped. That much was apparent. Why? She had been praying. Had been trusting God for healing, and still the open gash oozed putrid discharge and the skin around the wound spread a flame of red in an ever-increasing circle. Ever since last night, the pain had been throbbing to each beat of her heart. She felt flushed, and she could feel the fever when she touched her brow. Tears squeezed from under her closed eyelids as she steadied herself against a nearby wall. Was she wrong to attempt to hide her misery? Should she confide in Martha? But wouldn't that show a lack of faith on her part?

Now her heart was fluttering with another fear. For Jacob had brought the news that this very night, in the evening hours, Peter planned to meet with two men. Both of the men she had come to fear would be together....

She knew they were not seeking counsel from Peter on becoming a follower. No, they would be coming to barter. To haggle over which one would obtain her as his bride. Her recollection of both men was vivid. Their hungry eyes told her all she needed to know. It was not love she saw when each man looked at her. It was not the expression she had seen on Alban's face as he gazed at his new bride, Leah. No, it was desire. Raw. Open. And utterly appalling to her.

And she was helpless.

Or was she?

God knew of her plight, she was sure. Hadn't their Messiah said he knew when a tiny sparrow fell? But she had not received any discernible answers when she had prayed for his help and direction. Why?

If only she understood what this was all about. Until now, marriage had not been a frightening thought. But to one of these two men? Why was her faith being challenged in this way?

The sound of a firm step on the stair drew her head up, and she straightened her shoulders and quickly snatched a corner of her shawl to wipe at tears. But Abigail had not been quick enough in her recovery to hide from Martha's knowing eyes.

"So which is it," the woman asked with directness. "The leg? Or the men?"

Abigail sniffed, then shrugged.

"Both, I take it."

There was no need to agree ... or attempt to argue. Martha understood her too well.

"Sit," said Martha as she lowered herself to a bench and patted the spot beside her. Abigail moved slowly across the room.

"Now-let's see that leg."

Abigail hesitated for a moment before lifting the hem of her robe.

Martha grimaced. "The bandage is soaked through. Remove it."

Abigail leaned forward and began to slowly unwrap the filthy cotton. Even before she finished, she felt Martha stiffen beside her. "This is not good. The redness reaches nearly to your knee."

Martha took over the unwrapping from Abigail's fumbling fingers. "Mercy, child. This is a mess you have here. How long has it been like this?"

"It . . . it just keeps getting worse instead of better."

"Why have you said nothing?"

Abigail shrugged again. What was there to say? She felt dutybound to carry her share of the work load. Plus there was something she was almost afraid to acknowledge to herself, that confessing her worries might reveal her lack of faith. Or, to be truly honest, was she hoping the damaged limb would keep these two undesirable men from seeking marriage with her? In truth, she did not know the answer.

But Martha was already on her feet, pulling Abigail to a standing position. "It's to bed with you. You shouldn't be on that leg at all. No arguments. Why, I can't believe what I am seeing."

Martha continued to explain herself as she led Abigail toward a small room near the kitchen. "There is a time for prayer and a time for action. Right now, action is appropriate. First we tend to this wound. Then we pray. Or in this case we will pray as we work. And while we are at it, we will add a prayer about those two men as well. Actually, I don't think God approves of either one of them any more than I do."

C H A P T E R

FOURTEEN

THE COMPOUND'S OUTER PORTAL opened and a long-familiar face beamed at him. "Shalom, Ezra bin Simon. Shalom. Welcome to my home."

"You are opening your own door these days, Isaac?"

The merchant only smiled more broadly. "Many things are changing, Ezra. We live in an age of ... well, miracles."

Ezra had known the merchant for over a decade. The family had long dealt in incense and wares from the East. Because Isaac's brother was a skilled carpenter, the family enterprise also imported fragrant woods, and had branched out to other locations. Isaac had bought more land and set up workshops around this area where his brother and apprentices fashioned ornately carved chests and inlaid boxes.

Isaac's home stood just outside the city gates in the Kidron Valley. Tradition had it that part of the city's original boundaries had included this land. But when the Judeans returned from their exile five hundred years before, they shrank the borders, holding the city walls to the hilltops. It meant that a merchant like Isaac could own a compound large enough for storage areas as well as his brother's workshops, something that would have been impossible inside the city's walls. Yet according to Temple dictates, he and his clan officially resided within the holy city.

As he was led inside by his good-humored host, Ezra continued to digest the startling news that one of Jerusalem's senior merchants had joined this new sect. Isaac clearly sensed what Ezra was thinking, for he turned and said, "At first I was as you are. Two servants within my home had become followers of Jesus. One was the woman who had raised me after my own mother's death. I would trust her with my life. Of course I went to investigate."

Ezra felt another shiver of anticipation touch his gut, though the sensation had nothing to do with what the merchant was saying. Ezra had known this sensation every time his mind turned to the young woman. He asked politely, "How long ago was this?"

"Four months, almost five." The stone path led them around a cluster of date palms, past a shallow pool surrounded by desert flowers, and onto a flagstone patio, where a series of tables had been set beneath torchlight. The area was already rather crowded with other guests.

Isaac asked, "Is your sister not coming tonight?"

"No, her husband is not well." For as long as Ezra had known him, Ananias had suffered from occasional fevers. "Sapphira did not want to leave his side." He did not mention her reluctance to approach the leaders once again.

"We shall pray for his swift and full recovery."

Ezra bowed in formal thanks, but before he could speak the traditional words, he noticed a man seated against the opposite wall. "Who is- What, may I ask, is he doing here?"

Isaac's good humor vanished. "The man was a surprise to me as well."

"You invite Romans into your house?"

"No, Ezra. But I opened my residence to Peter and our clan for this meal to celebrate the Sabbath's close. And Peter invited this man to join us." Isaac lowered his voice. "If you want my opinion, I think he has come with a certain young woman in mind."

Ezra stared at the Roman. Surely not, his mind raced. Yet what man could see Abigail and not desire her? Already he felt jealous. He had no intention of losing her.

He was struck by a sudden thought. Perhaps the Roman had been invited as a ploy, to raise her dowry. Of course. It was a shrewd move. Ezra's respect for these people heightened. Once again he was pressed by logic to withdraw. Here he was, ready to haggle with a Roman over a washerwoman. But he would not willingly concede. What did the cost matter now?

The merchant gave no indication he had noticed Ezra's calculating squint. "Every time a woman appears from the house, the Roman turns. When it is not her, he goes back to waiting. He speaks to no one."

Ezra could not keep the jealous ire from his voice. "Who is he?"

"The name is Linux. He is one of the tribune's officers. Abigail's guardian is his friend."

"Another Roman." The news from Jacob that Abigail's fate was held in the hands of a Roman married to a Judean from Italy had not been welcome. And now this. "You admit Romans into your ranks?"

"Alban is counted as a God-fearer."

"And this one?"

"Peter asked that I admit him. He is here. I know nothing more."

Ezra's glare burned with such intensity that the Roman must have felt it. He turned in his seat, facing Ezra and his challenging expression straight on.

Isaac touched his arm. "Come. Let me introduce you to Peter."

From his position at the far wall, Linux watched their host lead a Judean around the various groups of visitors and across the courtyard. He was undoubtedly a Judean merchant prince. The man might live under the full weight of Rome's occupying army, but Linux was certain he was a leader among his tribe. The newcomer, tall and strong, followed their host across the courtyard with a stately bearing. The man had wrapped one length of his formal robes about his right arm, as a visiting dignitary might when approaching a king. He was led to a group of the clan leaders speaking intensely with one another. Linux, on the other hand, had been left on a lone bench set alongside the wall. He noted that the other man's approach caused something of a stir. Conversations halted and eyes tracked the man's progress. The Judean might have been aware of the attention but gave no sign, undoubtedly accustomed to it.

The man reminded Linux of a slighter version of his own brother. Haughty, born to power and the subservience of others, accustomed to getting whatever it was he craved.

So this is the other man seeking Abigail's hand. Of that Linux had no doubt.

Further, Linux sensed the man had seen him and knew he was there on the same quest. The Judean stopped and looked at Linux once again as the two men approached the people gathered near the far table. The man's obvious stare was not because Linux was the lone Roman among this Judean gathering. The man saw Linux as a rival.