The Hidden Flame (21 page)

The governor gave him a reptilian smile. "Come, my new adviser. Let us see if this lovely garden can offer us a bit of shade."

Marcellus led him deeper still into the green enclave. Linux could not help comparing this man to the predecessor he had once served. Pontius Pilate wore the uniform because it suited him. On the new governor, however, the military trappings mocked his evident weakness. Marcellus was a man shaped by idleness and indulgence. The arms which emerged from the tunic were the color of flour.

They passed one fountain, another. The workers hammering down the dividing wall faded into the distance. They arrived at the fountain furthest from the palace. The outer border was rimmed by date palms planted so tightly their branches formed a basket-weave overhead. "Sit here beside me, Linux."

"Sire, I am most grateful. But I think more clearly on my feet."

"As you wish." The prelate adjusted his robes before settling onto the fountain's stone rim. "A man of your abilities cannot possibly wish to live the remainder of his days here in this pestilent province with its quarrelsome folk."

"The tribune Bruno Aetius has invited me to join his officer corps and travel to Syria."

"I do not wish it, do you hear?" The man slapped the stone with an open palm. "I forbid you to accept his offer."

"I hear and obey, sire." As Linux bowed he heard a door slam shut in his brain.

"Besides which, your place is not in yet another hot and dusty war-torn land. Your place is in Umbria."

The way Marcellus spoke the word Umbria, it sounded like a song. Linux was flooded with a yearning so strong that he shivered.

Very little seemed to escape the prelate's eye. He gave Linux a tight smile. "Or, if you prefer, Rome. After all, with your brother out of the way, you would rule the family holdings. A prince of Umbria would be expected to spend time in Rome. A seat on the Senate would be his for the asking."

"Transfer of power from one brother to another is not guaranteed by Roman law."

The prelate was not at all disturbed by Linux's statement. "I can guarantee that the emperor would appoint you guardian over your brother's children."

"How is that possible, may I ask?"

"Do sit down, Linux. I dislike having to look up at you."

Reluctantly he settled down onto the fountain's edge, but well out of striking range. Marcellus had given no sign of carrying even a dagger. But the man emanated a palpable flavor of doom. "Forgive me for speaking openly, sire."

"Why do you think we have removed ourselves to this station? Say whatever is on your mind."

"A guarantee is easily offered when there are no witnesses, and the emperor is in distant Rome."

"I carry a document bearing his own seal. All I need do is supply the words."

Linux leaned so far back he felt the fountain's splash upon his neck.

"As soon as we return to the palace, I will show you the scroll." The prelate was not a patient man, and when Linux remained silent he slapped the stone once more. "I command you to answer!"

"I have known men of nearly limitless power who will not sleep alone," Linux said slowly. "Yet here we are, with neither guards nor advisers. I am thinking that the task you have in mind for me is as grave as it is dangerous."

"Are you afraid of danger, Linux?"

"No, sire. Not when the threat bears a purpose that a simple officer's mind can understand."

"There is purpose indeed. But not military. My intent lies within the realms of power." The prelate slid over the stone, closing the distance between them. "Sejanus demands to be made consul. The Senate desperately seeks to refuse him that post. But they need someone else to hold that position. Someone they can trust. I wish to claim it for myself. I wish it with the same passion as you wish for your brother to vanish from this earth."

Linux nodded. The consuls of Rome acted as bridges between the emperor and the Senate. They also served as high judges of the Roman empire. Their power was second only to the emperor himself.

Marcellus went on, "My allies within the Senate have said that I would be acceptable as consul. But only if I can pay their price, which is enormous."

"Forgive me, sire. But I am utterly without funds. And I doubt that my family could possibly-"

"I don't wish to give you a princedom merely to beggar you. As consul, I will need trusted allies even more than I do here."

"Then what-?"

"Do you know the amount that foul priest Caiaphas and his father-in-law, Annas, paid me to retain the position of high priest?"

"I had heard it was their weight in gold."

"That and more. They paid without a quibble. Do you know what that means? The Temple treasury must be huge. Large enough to satisfy even the Senate's impossible hunger for gold." Marcellus dropped his voice to where it joined with the fountain's music, a soft murmur of poison. "Find a way to bring me the Temple treasury, and your brother will not last another month. Agree to be my thief, and you depart for Umbria with the guardianship decree in your pouch. Marry the widow or dispose of her, adopt the children or lock them away forever-no one in Rome will care either way, of that I can assure you."

The man's expression carried the heat of a branding iron, one that scalded the inner reaches of Linux's heart. "All your dreams and more are here on offer. If you agree to be my chosen man."

C H A P T E R

NINETEEN

IT HAD BEEN SUCH A SATISFYING MORNING. The intense heat, of course, had added to the strain of working since before dawn in the kitchen and distributing the meals. A chance to just sit and relax for a few moments . . . But neither the heat nor her weariness could erase the joy that filled Abigail's being. Both legs were strong and ready to take her wherever she wished to go. Besides the healing itself, what a marvel it was to be directly touched by the Lord.

But she had to admit the hours of work left her body aching from her neck to the soles of her feet. Many of the women were considerably older than Abigail. She felt responsible to carry as much of the load as she could.

She had kneaded bread for the ovens and set it to rise. Then, having decided after all that she preferred to make her own selections, she headed for the market stalls. She hoped the fresh garden and vineyard produce would already be laid out by the time she arrived. There was no waiting, and she was able to quickly fill her two baskets and start back. As she struggled through the streets, the heavy load slowing her steps, the roosters had awakened, admonishing their flocks to also get busy.

By the time she made it back to the compound the bread was ready to be baked. It was needed for the first meal of the day.

From then on the day sped forward without slowing for a moment. It seemed to Abigail that every day brought new people to the compound who needed provisions. Peter had ceased trying to keep count of how many were being baptized into the community of believers.

It was true that only a few of the followers of the Way actually met and ate at these central quarters. All over Jerusalem and stretching into the surrounding villages and farms, other groups were housed.

But in the morning and afternoon many came to the compound for their daily rations of food to prepare in their own kitchens. A cart and additional donkey were purchased so more food could be brought from the market. That was now how much of Abigail's day was spent. Her new assignment to aid overburdened Martha included managing the distribution of the food-it had to be sorted, portioned, and handed out to those who came.

Responsibility for keeping track of donated funds and outgoing expenses was Stephen's. He showed the same open heart to everyone, both those giving and those in need. Abigail found herself in awe of his calm demeanor and his giving heart. Particularly this day, when God's presence seemed so very close to her, she enjoyed a prayerful calm as she saw to her myriad tasks.

That afternoon, as usual, Peter and another apostle prayed over the food and funds coming from volunteers, asking the Lord to bless it and increase it as needed. Abigail had never had to turn anyone away from the distribution table empty-handed.

Abigail watched the last of the afternoon crowd hoist their baskets and head back out into the street. She heaved a sigh, thankful that another day was nearing an end.

Seated at the central courtyard table, Stephen wrote his last entry and rolled up the scroll of his records. He nodded to her. "You look hot and tired."

"I am both. But weariness is nothing like the pain-"

"The entire gathering has spoken of little else besides the miracle." He motioned to the bench opposite his, now cast in afternoon shadows. "You should take a moment and rest. Have you eaten?"

"I don't remember." They both laughed, and she added, "Not since daybreak."

"You must keep up your strength if you are to care for others."

Abigail nodded and went into the shadowy cooking alcove to pour herself a mug of goat's milk. She returned to the table. Though the compound remained a center of activity with people still coming and going, this one spot was both public and yet somewhat isolated. "Will you take anything?" she asked before she sat down.

"Not for the moment, thank you." He fingered the corner of the scroll. His usually tranquil expression held a look of concern.

"Is ... is something the matter?"

"God always supplies. His miracles abound, as we have been so profoundly reminded." He nodded toward her with a smile. "We are indeed blessed by his abundance. I need only see you moving so well about the compound to be reminded of these truths." But his face was grave again.

"Yet something troubles you, I can see it."

Stephen leaned across the table and murmured, "We have almost nothing left. Not even a few coins to pay for tomorrow's supplies."

"We have no money?" Abigail could not believe her ears.

He simply shook his head.

"What will we do?"

Stephen ran a finger along the edge of the scroll, as though tracing the accounts of each passing day. "We wait. We trust." He straightened his shoulders and said, "Then we marvel when God meets the need."

Abigail hesitated, then confessed, "I wish my faith were that strong."

His smile returned, and all his features seemed transformed by that simple act. "Do you know, for weeks I would sit here working and praying and worrying. And then God answered my prayers by bringing you."

Abigail was so shocked she could not respond.

"Indeed. What a wonderful reminder of his power, seeing you walk across the courtyard, smiling despite your weariness. With your wound utterly healed." His dark eyes shone with renewed purpose. "We have God's promise. You have helped me remember this."

She lowered her eyes, not wanting Stephen to see her doubts. What would they do to feed the people if the money did not come? So many followers depended upon them.

She managed what she hoped was a confident smile. She too must allow faith to guide her thoughts and expectations. A brief nod, and she replied. "Please tell me ... when it happens. I will rejoice with you."

Stephen stood and tucked the scroll under his arm. "I will," he promised. "We will not have long to wait. Funds are needed for the morning purchases."

They had just finished evening prayers, including some fervent requests for "God to supply all our needs," and a weary Abigail was wrapping her shawl about her shoulders when Stephen approached her. "I have news," he said, the shine in his eyes saying even more than his words.

Abigail allowed herself to be guided to one side of the courtyard, a few steps away from the bustle of departing worshipers. "It's already happened." His voice was low, but his expression was clear in the glow from the courtyard torches. "The money. For tomorrow. For many, many tomorrows. It's here."

"But how ... ?" There were so many questions. "Where did this ... this miracle come from?"

"I was just putting the accounts away in the locked chest when the Levite Joses, a Cypriot- Do you know him?"

Abigail felt almost overwhelmed by Stephen's excitement. She forced herself to think. "The apostles call him Barnabas?"