The Hidden Flame (24 page)

"You still wish to join the Roman legion."

Jacob sent Abigail a look, one so strong she found herself holding back from the torrent of arguments that filled her mind. He turned back to Alban. "You offered to help me."

Alban sighed. "That was a different man who said that."

"Just the same, there was once a time when you considered it a worthy profession. And I still feel that way."

Alban nodded slowly. There was a measured pace to his words and motions, one Abigail did not recall from earlier times. As though the desert has worked itself deep into the man's bones.... And prayer as well, she added. He was far more thoughtful, and much deeper. His copper eyes held the depths of a Bedouin well. "Perhaps that too should wait for tomorrow, Jacob," she said. "It is getting late and we have traveled far. I am weary, as you must be also, Alban. Perhaps we will all see things more clearly with the morning light. Now-"

But Jacob was not finished. "Something terrible happened at the compound. It frightened me." He glanced at Abigail, revealing how the shadows had returned to his features. "I ... I don't even know if I want to go back."

Alban studied her brother. The flickering torchlight had turned the young man into someone far beyond his years. Abigail felt more than ever the threat of losing him. He was growing into his own person, and handling the traumas of life very differently.

Alban asked quietly, "What happened?"

"Two people were killed. Or died. Or something . . ." Jacob picked at a thread in the carpet. The words tumbled out as he recounted the story of Ananias and Sapphira.

Alban did not take his eyes from the boy's face. Jacob's eyes grew ever wider with disbelief, doubt, concern, and awe. By the time he was done with the tale, his shoulders were shaking.

Alban reached out a hand of comfort. "Do you wish to stay here for the night?"

"Oh yes. Could we?"

"There is room." He rose smoothly to his feet. "I'll gather extra pallets and blankets from the caravan owner. Wait here."

Abigail shut her eyes and rocked back and forth. She was thankful they would not have to sneak back through the streets in the darkness to their small dwelling. They would feel safe here.

Alban rounded up extra bedding. "I'll spread my pallet outside under the stars, right across the entrance," he told them. "Try to get some rest."

Dawn was a silver hue on the eastern horizon when the three left the caravan site and entered the city's south gate just as the first rooster crowed. Alban wore the same simple garb as the previous night, covered now by a robe worn by many desert folk against the night chill. Abigail could see his eyes searching every shadow, watching carefully for any movement that might be meant to catch them unawares. And she knew that under his folded robe, the sword remained at his side.

He asked, "Will Peter be there when we arrive?"

Jacob shrugged. "We never know. Some mornings he goes off alone to pray."

"Whom would you suggest we speak with?"

"Maybe John. Or James. Or even Nathanael," said Abigail.

"Stephen. You could talk with Stephen," cut in Jacob. "He's a good man. I can talk to him. All my friends like him too."

"I do not recall a Stephen. Is he a leader?"

Jacob shrugged again. "He is always busy looking out for people. He watches everything and cares for everyone. Isn't that right, Abigail?"

Abigail was surprised at Jacob's words. She'd had no idea Jacob was observing Stephen so closely. And, oddly enough, what Jacob had just said rang so true. "Stephen truly lives to help others."

"Stephen and Abigail work together," Jacob explained. "Abigail helps distribute food for those who have need, and Stephen supervises the donations coming in and everything that is purchased. And he keeps all the records...."

Alban laid a hand on the boy's shoulder. "As we walk the market lanes," he said in a low voice, "we should perhaps keep silent so as to not draw attention to ourselves. We will continue our discussion when we arrive at the compound."

Jacob nodded and was quiet for the rest of the journey.

Peter was not there. Abigail could tell that Jacob felt relieved. The lad swiftly volunteered to find Stephen. She was happy to sit and talk with Alban in the brief interlude. While they waited she told him more details of her healing. Just talking about it altered her mood from the evening before. By the time Jacob and Stephen appeared, she felt more like herself.

Alban and Stephen were introduced and greeted one another in the custom of brothers of the Way, with an embrace and a kiss on the cheek. Jacob moved up by Alban and pressed in as close as possible when they all took seats. Abigail could tell how much her brother had missed his friend and guardian.

"I have been told that an unusual event took place recently," Alban began.

Stephen's already dark eyes deepened as he nodded. Abigail, who was watching him closely, realized he had been shaken by the incident too.

When Stephen did not speak, Alban went on. "May I hear your assessment of the matter?"

Stephen looked thoughtful. He hesitated as though arranging or sorting his thoughts. Alban did not hurry him.

"I was not there. I did not see it happen, but I have heard much from those who were there. It seems..." He hesitated again. "It seems that Ananias attempted to deceive and was punished. Severely, I admit. When it was found that Sapphira conspired in the deception, her punishment was the same." He shook his head.

"So Peter himself did nothing?"

"Peter? No. No, Peter did not so much as lift a hand toward them-save rebuke them. The doing was God's."

"So what do you make of it?"

"I have spent the nights since trying to find an answer to that question." He shifted on the seat and looked directly into Alban's eyes. "I do not know the answer. So I have returned to the things I do know. We are children of God. God is holy. He is merciful. But he is also just. He does not delight in punishing his own. So this ... this indiscretion was serious in the eyes of God. More serious than we as his creatures might have made it to be. Had God ignored it, would one lie have grown into two? Multiplied many times over? What would the end have been? Total disregard for who God is? Would we, as his people, eventually lose all proper holy fear?" Stephen looked down at his hands folded on the table in front of him.

"I have come to the conclusion that God, as a holy, just God, had to act as he did," he said finally, lifting his head to look directly at Alban. "Had he allowed this deceit to go unpunished, more of his children would eventually have perished than the two we lost. The evil lurking in our hearts will take over if left unchecked. God has given us a reminder of whom we serve. Just as he did in the days of Moses, when God gave the painful instruction to destroy some in order to save more. In a way, it is encouraging, blessed, to realize that we are serving Moses' God. He has not changed."

Abigail listened with her full attention. How wise the words. How beautifully he had expressed what she needed to hear. How deep his faith. She looked at him with new respect.

Alban was nodding, but Jacob seemed not to have been listening. He still looked drawn tightly within himself. Abigail prayed that Alban might be able to get through to her distraught brother.

Abigail pushed her worries about Jacob aside. She had listened. She had heard every word Stephen had spoken. A wonderful truth engulfed her. She was safe. They were all still safe. As long as they followed the ways of God, they had nothing to fear. He was holy-but he was just. And as long as they followed their godly leaders-like Peter, like Stephen-they would remain protected and on the right path.

An unfamiliar stirring in her heart made her lift her head. She had always admired this calm, helpful man, but now she felt drawn to him in a way she had never experienced before. She lowered her gaze before her eyes would reveal her secret.

C H A P T E R

TWENTY-ONE

LINUX MOVED THROUGH THE STABLES attached to the Antonia Fortress, his mind on Umbria.

Normally he did not allow himself to daydream about the home of his youth. But since meeting the prelate earlier in the week, he had been unable to clear his thoughts of such recollections. They crept up and snared him night and day.

The heat was fierce, especially inside the stalls, and the air was crowded with the smells of horses and leather and men. Linux wiped the sweat that beaded on his face and recalled those summer showers from childhood, gentle as a baby's murmur, too heavy to be called mist yet too light to fall like winter's downpours. The rain silenced the world. Linux had loved walking through it, listening to the water condense and drip from every surface. The world of Umbria was so gentle, even the hills were softened.

Linux stepped into an empty stall and swept the hay off the rear wall, patting the stone with both hands. He wondered fleetingly if Abigail would like Umbria. Could he transplant such a beautiful desert flower to Italy? Would she thrive or pine for the hot sands of her world like he did for the land of his birth?

He heard footsteps creak the floorboards overhead. Linux stood utterly still until a voice on the verge of manhood called, "Sire? Linux?"

"Down here in the stables." He stepped from the stall, brushing straw from his hands. He heard the boy tread lightly down the stairs. "How are you, lad?" he said as Jacob came into view.

The boy was troubled. Linux could see that much from his silhouette moving toward him. His shoulders were pulled together and he was tilted slightly, as though young burdens had become too heavy for him to remain fully upright. "What are you doing, sire?"

Linux knew Jacob had long proved himself to be a safe pair of hands when it came to holding secrets. "I am on an errand for the prelate. I needed to wait until the stable master and his men broke for the midday meal."

"Can I be of help?"

"You can keep me company, how is that?"

Jacob climbed up on one of the barriers separating the horses as Linux moved into the next stall and began scraping away the detritus covering the stone wall. "Alban has arrived," Jacob said.

The news brought Linux's head up. Alban was back! Yet the lad's expression was anything but joyous.

"You don't sound happy about it."

"After Alban left us, I quarreled with Abigail this morning. Again. I hate it when we fight."

"I was never much good at squabbling with women myself." The stones had not been touched in years and were covered with a thick layer of old straw and dust and refuse. Linux spied a wooden rake used to clean the stalls and scraped away at the stone. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

"I can't remember my birthday. She did not want to tell me when it was."

The family tragedy captured in those words halted Linux for a moment before he moved to the next stall. "Abigail does not want you to know the day you were born?"

"I will soon turn fifteen. That is the age of joining the legions."

"Ah. Of course. Keep an eye out for anyone coming in the entrance, will you?"

Jacob swiveled about so as to face the stable entry. "Do you think I can become a legionnaire and also be a good believer?"